


When a World Meeting is Productive

by Pixelfun20



Series: Alternate Future of the World [1]
Category: Geography (Anthropomorphic), Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, All the Countries | Nations (Hetalia), Alternate Future of the World, American States - Freeform, And Past I Guess, BAMF America (Hetalia), Countryballs - Freeform, Gen, I'll add more tags as i go, Implied/Referenced Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Minor Human OCs - Freeform, Mystery, Nations Doing Their Jobs, Pandemics, Read the Disclaimer, Rewriting the First Chapters, Semi-Realistic Earth, This Starts in 2015 and Ends in 2032 Basically, Updates Sundays, War Crimes, World War III, international politics, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-09-06 23:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20299657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelfun20/pseuds/Pixelfun20
Summary: If you asked Ethiopia, it all started when he was ousted from his own country in a violent coup. If you asked China, it started when he fell from his status as a World Power. If you asked Southern Italy, it was when the Vipeaira virus became a pandemic. And if you asked the United States of America, the road to WWIII began when a World Meeting was productive. AU starting in 2015. Country OCs. Multiple POVs***Part two, The Hybrid Wars, is up! Please give it the support it needs! :)***





	1. An Unlikely Alliance

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, wow. I'm actually publishing this. When a World Meeting is Productive has been in the works for over two and a half years now, and it feels really weird to actually be publishing it, especially since it doesn't fill the typical mold of a Hetalia fanfiction. Oh, well. This place needs more semi-realistic fictions anyway ;). Please read the disclaimer and enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I kinda hate chapters 1 and 2 but aren't really sure how to fix them. If you guys have any ideas on how, please let me know!

**DISCLAIMER: This is an alternate history/future starting in 2015, and ****is not politically or realistically possible.** **This story is not meant to offend any readers, and it's only purpose is to entertain. If I accidentally offended you in any way, please contact me so we can work it out. All cultural/historical references have been the product of almost a hundred hours of research, but I don't trust all my sources, so feel free to politely point out anything I get wrong.**

**I own none of the work here, including the canon characters, the setting, and most of the storyline (Though some changes have been made**—**and a few subplots added**—**for the Hetalia version to work). This work is **_**based**_ **off of VoidViper's YouTube series: "Rise of New Abyssinia," in countryballs and "Axis Powers: Hetalia," by Hidekaz Himaruya. Please, watch the original series (as they are much better than this story), and support the original creators.**

* * *

**What is Countryballs?** Also commonly known as _Polandball_, Countryballs is an internet meme which has transformed into its own fandom. The countries are personified as spheres sporting their nation's flag. They typically speak in broken English (with the exception of native English speakers) and poke fun at national stereotypes, history, and current political events. It's often come to be associated with "Alternate Future of the World" YouTube videos, which often "predict" the future of the world by using maps. VoidViper's "Rise of New Abyssinia" is one of those videos.

**What is Hetalia (or in other words, how is it being interpreted for this story)?** Hetalia is a political satire. The characters are the personifications of nations, and their personalities are a combination of their national stereotypes and what "personality" can be inferred from the country's history. Each country ages according to the development of their nation, and can be injured if an attack or economic depression hits their country. They are relatively immortal, reviving after each death they experience, safe unless their country has collapsed. Each nation has two names: their country name, and their human name. Their country name is used with formal connotations, while their human name is informal or used in the presence of non-nations. This story takes a much more serious interpretation of the characters, and as such they may be out of character at times.

The American states, Canadian provinces, and several territories are personified as well.

Nations are a worldwide secret and their existence is only known to government officials.

Due to the rapid rise and economic/military might of his nation, America has super strength.

When the countrys' human names are used, I will include them at the beginning of each chapter so you can know who is who more easily.

* * *

**June 8, 2015**

**Oslo, Norway**

China shifted in his seat, for once not partaking in the 'World Meeting' taking place around him. As usual, nothing was getting done. America wasn't even here yet, France and England were fighting (again), Spain was cooing over Romano, who was hitting him, Russia was terrifying the Baltics, Switzerland was shouting at Japan to 'get his own opinion,' South Korea, Prussia, and Denmark were being, well, themselves, as the rest of the NATO countries were kind of just there, not doing anything to stop the chaos that had become so normalized over the last two centuries or so.

Yep. Another normal and completely pointless World Meeting.

China took a deep breath and looked up to the podium, where Germany was _supposed_ to be trying to get at least a portion of their agenda done for the day. However, it seemed that the Germanic nation had given up already; he was repeatedly slamming his head into podium, probably denting it, as North Italy tried frantically to get him to stop.

The "communist" country rested his head on one hand, warily eyeing Russia and South Korea so they didn't sneak up on him on him like they had in the last several meetings (in two separate instances). It… had not been fun, to say the least.

And today was the crux of it all. Today was the _real_ World Meeting—not just a gathering of NATO or the G20. Every country in the world was invited to the World Summit Meeting—usually around 190 or so nations came, accounting for North Korea and several other countries not being able/refusing to come. Held every five years, this day was generally called _chaos_.

Right now, every country was in a large seminar room, each country assigned a seat according to their power and influence around the world. Naturally, China was right up front, next to the stage, unneeded clipboard for notes sitting at his side. He was actually second in the room, America (still not here) to his right at number one, and the United Kingdom (England represented the union) to his left at third. And dear god, Russia was still at fourth. Terrifying.

Meanwhile, Libya, a slightly tall, dark-skinned man with wavy brown hair, who was _supposed_ to be giving a speech about the situation about ISIS and terrorism in his country, was currently fighting with his brother, Algeria, over who-knows what[1]. He'd stopped paying much attention to Africa well over a century ago, except for when they could make him some money to make up for the debts America had yet to pay back, and, at this point, likely never would.

China winced away as France (three seats down from England at number six) and England's fight became too close close for comfort.

"I swear, you western countries are so immature," he muttered under his breath, eyeing South Korea as he and Prussia tested how many grapes they could fit in Denmark's mouth, then added dutifully: "And maybe some of my eastern ones too."

"Well is maybe if your skull wasn't as thick as your hair, we wouldn't be having this conversation!" England abruptly screamed, causing China to flinch involuntarily and put a hand to his ear, looking to see if he could find a way to exit the room. This was getting ridiculous. Well, even more ridiculous than usual.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The eastern nation jumped, startled, and whipped his head around to see a young teenager—maybe 15 or 16—standing next to him, sporting a nervous expression. He was rather tall for his age, at 5'6, the same as him. He had spiky, ruffled black hair and a cowlick in the back of his head, complemented with hazel eyes. He was dressed formally (something many of the nations here no longer bothered to do), in a white dress shirt and slacks.

"What is it?" He snapped, then inwardly cringed at his tone. "Excuse me, this meeting has been very annoying. Do you need something?"

"It's fine!" The boy grinned, before becoming more serious. "My father wishes to speak with you in private. Zhè cì huìyì duì shìjiè guānxì méiyǒu rènhé bāngzhù, tā shuō[2]. It's too loud."

China's eyes widened as he regarded the obviously American teenager. Not many teens at that age took the time to learn Mandarin, nor that fluently. And his father… now that he thought about it, no one would let in some random kid off the street into a World Meeting, which left…

"If America wants to talk to me, it better be about his debt," he snorted. "Which state are you[3]?"

"The State of Utah, at your service," the teenager, Utah, replied, bowing with a flourish. "Ryan Jones, Deseret, The Beehive State; whichever you prefer."

"Alright, _Utah_," he responded, stressing the kid's name and feeling entirely unimpressed. "Why should I trust you?"

"I'm regarded as one of the most trustworthy of my siblings, actually," Utah replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "It's kind of ironic."

China sighed, glancing over at England and France as their fight became physical. "Well, no one will notice me gone, anyways. Anything to get out of here, even if it's with the help of your father."

Utah grinned, looking triumphant, as China stood up with a grumble, before jumping out of his chair as England and France, too enthralled in their fight to notice either him or the American state, crashed into where he had been sitting only a moment before.

"Aiyah!" He exclaimed, smacking England or France (he couldn't tell who in that tangle of limbs). "Keep your fighting in your own space! Now," he turned to Utah, calm again. "Where are we going?"

"A small conference room outside of this seminar place," Utah replied, calmly ducking a clipboard hurling towards his head. "Pssh, this place is a lot calmer than Dad made it out to be."

China raised an eyebrow as they made their way to the exit doors, in the back of the conference room. All the nations at this point, especially the ones farther back in the room, who didn't care much for foreign affairs anyways, were either causing chaos, playing games, or in some cases, sleeping (Greece, to be exact).

"What do you mean by that?" He asked, genuinely curious. He couldn't see anything being able to make this kid regard World Meetings so apathetically.

"Trust me on this one," Utah smiled at the eastern country, before he began ticking off fingers. "State meetings make this look like a springtime day. Ohio and Michigan are absolute _nightmares_, especially during the football—American Football—season. New York is always finding a reason to attack New Jersey, and everyone has a grudge for California, Texas, and New York, though they don't really care. Alabama and Mississippi are always arguing over who is more stupid, and Texas still has yet to realize that he's not a country. Trust me, this is a walk through the park compared to state meetings."

"...Why am not surprised," China sighed, rolling his shoulders as he opened a door to leave the conference room. "At least your fights don't result in wars."

"_Most_ of the time," Utah laughed, closing the door behind him. The hallway instantly quieted as he did so. "Dad always jokes about how the World Meetings are just a babysitting service while the leaders get things done. He never takes these things seriously. Well, until now."

"What?" China couldn't help the incredulity of the notion seep into his voice. "America is actually taking a meeting seriously?! That hasn't happened since the end of World War II!"

Utah shrugged. "Trust me, it surprised the rest of us, too," he replied. "But when the entirety of the original 13 states _and _the president are unanimous on something, you'd better listen. Even Dad listens to them when that happens. Though, honestly, the last time they came to a complete agreement was when they decided to enter World War 1 back in 1917."

China snorted. "What does your father even want to talk to me about?"

"I'll leave that for my father to tell you," The American state responded, stopping at a small out-of-the-way door. "He's in here."

"You aren't coming?" The Chinese nation raised an eyebrow.

"Not my place," came the answer.

Shrugging, the second most powerful nation in the world opened the door, entering a small conference room. It was just big enough to fit about five or more people, with a small table in the middle. At its head, America was pouring over his papers, strewn over the table, brow furrowed as he scribbled on a few of them. China cleared his throat.

America jumped and, making eye contact with the eastern nation, grinned, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hey, dude!" He announced, walking around to shake hands with China. The old nation raised an eyebrow at his OOC actions, and it was met with the American's million-dollar smile, which seemed to be plastered on his face 24/7.

"What is it, America?" he sighed, hands on his hips.

America just kept his grin plastered on his face. "I do appreciate you comin'. President Obama has been on my back lately, telling me to increase foreign relations, and, well, I thought the best place to start would be with you."

"Well, at least it isn't a declaration of war," China grumbled. "So what are you trying to do? Make us allies? That's most likely not going to happen. You as well as I know that we may not be enemies, but we certainly aren't friends."

America laughed shortly. "Dude, I'm not _that_ dumb!" He replied, waving a hand to offer China a seat. The eastern nation took the seat, as America took the one he had just been sitting in, hurrying to organize his papers. "I've actually been thinking about a deal, if you may, between our two countries."

"I didn't think you were that smart," China remarked. "Why now, America? You never act like this."

"It's not like anything gets done at a World Meeting anyways," The young superpower shrugged. "'S why I decided to hold our meeting now. We're gonna need the after-lunch break time today, and I doubt you would've come to meet me privately without being worn down by the other nations for a couple hours."

"I'm still in a good state of mind, so don't you think of trying anything!" China snapped. America laughed, before suddenly becoming a lot more serious.

"Okay, dude," he began, and China almost snorted at the trying-to-be-serious man in front of him using American slang. "I don't want to keep you in over lunch break and I would like to get to the actual subject soon."

"So?" China shrugged. "What is it? I'm the one waiting."

"I need you to help me, Russia, and our allies against ISIS and the Middle Eastern-Libyan terrorist groups."

China blinked. Then blinked again. A moment passed, and another.

"You're kidding me, right?" He exclaimed as he finally processed what the nation across from him had suggested. Gripping, the arms of his chair, the Eastern nation leaned forwards. "Impossible. I made clear years ago that I have no intention of getting into your Western politics, especially one like ISIS. Radical Islam absolutely _loathes_ you, Alfred," he stressed America's human name. "I'm certainly not about to get in the way of that."

"Well ISIS isn't exactly a Western affair, is it, Yao?" America shot back, also switching to use China's human name. "You've heard about the attacks. Bangladesh and Kazakhstan sit uncomfortably close to your border, no? And aren't Tibet and Xinjiang pushing for independence? And don't even get me started on ETLO and ETIM[4]."

China sighed and relaxed. As much as he hated to admit it, America was right on that part. His younger siblings had been quite annoying for some time now, complaining about the two organizations[5], and he had to admit that destroying ISIS would weaken them considerably.

"What do I get if I help you?" Yao continued. America's lips twitched into a small smile.

"Cleaning crews."

"What?!"

America shrugged. "You heard me. Cleaning crews and researchers to help with your smog and water problems. I've been to your country, Yao, and I've seen your rivers."

China snorted. America raised his hands in defense.

"Hey, this helps me, too," he defended. "A lot of your air pollution drifts across the ocean to my West Coast. If we work together, we can fix the problem for both of us. All I ask is help with ISIS."

China pinched his nose, leaning back in his chair. "I'm going to regret this…" he muttered, but eventually nodded his head. "Fine."

America grinned, whooping and immediately losing his serious mask (then again, America _did_ always choose to not read the atmosphere). China rolled his eyes, but his lips involuntarily twitched upwards.

"I'm only trusting you because you're incapable of betrayal," Yao reminded him. America just grinned, and, leaning forwards, shook China's hand.

And thus China joined the war against ISIS.

* * *

[1]- I have next to no information on Libyan-Algerian relations. It just seems that given their pasts (according to Wikipedia) that they would be the most likely to fight. If I am wrong, please, please correct me.

[2]- "This meeting isn't any help to world relations, he says." Mandarin Chinese, from Google Translate.

[3]- The existence of the American states are common knowledge to the other countries, though they rarely interact with them.

[4]- The East Turkestan Liberation Organization and the East Turkestan Islamic Movement. Both are radical Islamic organizations pushing for independence from China. They have been classified as terrorist movements by China, the US, the European Union, and multiple other countries. ETLO is considerably less of a threat compared to ETIM.

[5]- Xinjiang and Tibet are personified. Why will be revealed later in the story


	2. The Enemy of My Enemy (Is My Friend?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ISIS falls and we meet a peculiar little boy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are every Sunday. If you want more information on this story, check out my profile under the same name on FFN.

**June 8, 2015**

**Oslo, Norway**

America jolted as a bell rang out throughout the World Summit Meetingplace, China, sitting across from him, did the same. The two rivals-turned-temporary-allies had been pouring over America’s paperwork, which the younger nation had revealed to be battle plans against ISIS. So far, they had divided the war against ISIS into four main parts: the Libyan Campaign(LC), the Middle Eastern Campaign(MEC), the Afghanistan Campaign(AC), and the Tibet/Xinjiang Campaign(TXC). They had decided, that if everything went according to plan, the participating members of the EU, with aid from Canada, would take the LC; Turkey, the Middle East, and America, with help from the Russian air force, would take charge of the MEC; and then America, Russia, and China would defeat the AC and the TXC.

“Lunch already?” the American nation remarked, checking his phone. Sure enough, the clock read exactly 12:15.

“Finally,” China muttered, standing up and cracking his back. “I’ve been cramping for ages. I don’t get how you western countries can take it.”

“We just have younger bones,” America laughed, receiving a cuff on the ear by the elder nation. “Ow! Dude, that hurt!”

“Serves you right,” Yao remarked, grabbing his papers and heading for the door. “I take it we’ll start after lunch?”

“Yep!” Alfred popped the ‘p.’ “The real challenge will be keeping everyone calm enough to listen to my--”

“Our.”

“Plan, but I’ve got an idea for that.”

“You’re just going to yell at them, aren’t you?”

“Dude?! How did you know?!”

“You are much more predictable than you think.”

America pouted, crossing his arms and huffing. China found himself cracking a small smile at the younger nation’s behavior.

“Look, I’ll take care of that problem,” he compromised, rolling his shoulders. “If worst comes to worst, I’ll use Russia. He’ll terrify them all into submission.”

“You act like you know that you can control him,” America remarked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. China rolled his eyes.

“Ayiah! You western nations are so immature! It’s not like that!” He exclaimed. “Russia’s too terrifying! He just happens to like me more than others!”

“Sure…” Alfred’s grin became lewd. China huffed, now extremely annoyed, and exited the tiny room--_ finally _\--and entered the now-busy hallway. The Eastern nation sighed and rubbed the back of his head as he watched the other countries burst out of the conference room, some looking as if they had gone through a third World War.

“So help me, America, if this doesn’t work, I am going to _ kill _ you,” he muttered.

* * *

America bit his lip nervously, watching as more and more nations strode into the meeting room, most looking as if they would prefer to be anywhere but here. Already, the two hours the countries had been allotted for lunch had passed, and it was almost time for his and China’s plan to begin.

Already, he could spot England, Canada, and France entering the mostly-full room, France and England were fighting (as per usual), and Canada being ignored (also as per usual). America’s northern brother glanced up at his twin, raising an eyebrow in surprise at America’s position as speaker. The superpower only grinned and waved. Canada gave him a weary stare, before shaking his head to himself and taking his seat.

“We should be ready to begin in a couple minutes or so. Almost everyone's come back.”

America let out an undignified yelp, surprised, and whipped around to see none other than China looking back at him. The younger nation put a hand over his heart, laughing nervously.

“Dude, how’d you sneak up on me?” he exclaimed. “Scared me half to death!”

China rolled his eyes. “You just didn’t see me,” he said. “You are oblivious, after all. Are you nervous? You’re sweating.”

“What?” America balked. He hurriedly wiped his hands on his pants. “No way, man! I’m the hero, and heroes don’t get scared in the face of danger!”

“Sure….”

America stuck out his tongue at his elder, who didn’t respond. “When do you want to start?”

China shrugged, looking out over the room, Alfred following his gaze. While they had been talking, the aides had shut the door to the conference room, signaling the start of the meeting. Already, the sound of the nations fighting, talking, and causing chaos was rising steadily. France and England hadn’t even seemed to breathe since they’d entered the room, Norway was choking Denmark with his tie, and Poland was fighting Russia over Lithuania, who was desperately trying to break them apart. Only Canada seemed to be actually watching the two superpowers on stage, confused.

“Okay, ready?” China asked. America, taking a deep breath, nodded. The Asian nation suddenly grinned maliciously, and taking the microphone off the podium, made a deafening screeching sound on it.

_ Well, _ America noted, rubbing his ears, _ That worked a little too well. _ China had successfully silenced all the nations in the room, though most of them were glaring at the pair as if they were about to run up and stab them in the chest.

“What the bloody hell was that for?!”

Obviously, England was the first person to react.

“I needed a way for all of you westerners to pay attention,” China responded, cutting off several other disgruntled complaints. “America has something to say. Both of us have been talking, and we’ve decided to present to you about it. It’s not like we were going to do anything during this meeting, anyways.” Yao then tossed the microphone to Alfred, who caught it with a slight fumble. Quickly, he began to talk, not wanting the room to descend into chaos again.

“Yo, what’s up, dudes?” he began, forcing a hero-level grin and shoving all of his fear (stupid stage fright) down inside of him. “Okay, so the topic for this talk today is about ISIS and the other Radical Islamic terrorist organizations in the Middle East and Northern Africa. China and I have both agreed to a temporary alliance on this problem, so everybody else better shut up unless they want face the two of us.”

A deafening silence fell across the seminar room and Alfred let himself feel a bit of triumph. In his experience, the only way to get a country to shut up was to threaten them with war. In a way, the old days were still ingrained in the older nations, he reflected.

“Look, the air raids against ISIS just aren’t working. We know that. These guys are more than willing to fight to their last breaths for what they believe in. I’m sure Libya and you Middle Eastern Countries can attest to that.”

“We cannot simply send ground troops there,” England protested, speaking up once again. “We have our own problems too, you know.” Several murmurs of assent echoed his declaration.

“Look,” America shot back, waving an arm. “You can say what you want, but ISIS is a real threat to world security if we don’t try and stop them now. They’ve captured Ramadi. They have control of Palmyra. They may have lost Tikrit, but they also have taken over Derna, Benghazi, and Sirte[1]. They have suicide bombers all over the world, and they are more than ready to fight. It’s about time we really fight back.”

“And they’ve hacked my embassy!” A voice rang out over the crowd, and nations turned to see Turkmenistan, a tan-skinned Middle Asian man, standing up. At seeing the looks they were giving him, the nation flushed and sat back down in his seat[2].

“I agree with America.”

Everyone turned to see Tajikistan, of all people, sitting up in her seat. Rather small at 5’2, with loose brown hair, the Middle Asian nation didn’t wince under the stares she was being given.

“Because of their threats to Central Asia, Russia is supporting us, but it isn’t enough,” Tajikistan continued. “I’ve had to ban parts of the Muslim religion; my men aren’t allowed to have long beards anymore. Now we’re even thinking of banning Islamic names! I, for one, am all for stopping radical Islam. Colonel Khalimov may have defected because of what my government has done, but ISIS certainly is no better[3]. I say it’s time we take action!” She paused for a moment, then turned to Pakistan, who sat a row in front of her. “And letting them get nukes from Pakistan isn’t a good idea, either[4].”

Pakistan looked ready to protest Tajikistan’s remarks, but was quickly silenced by Sweden, who sat one seat to his left and put a hand on the nation’s shoulder, effectively shutting him up.

“Well, I assure all of you,” Algeria, spiky brown hair hanging in front of his eyes, declared. “I will not be an easy target, unlike Libya.”

“Why, you—!” The green-eyed African[5] exclaimed, but was also silenced by a well-placed stare from Vietnam, also sitting one seat to his left.

“Thank you,” America found himself grinning, happy that some nations were supporting him, at least. “If we are all willing to work together, I’m sure that we can defeat ISIS with the next two years—at most. We just need to put all our efforts in the right places.”

“I am starting to blame the US for the rise of ISIS. It makes sense that the capitalist pig would help them, da?”

Alfred’s optimism almost disappeared down the drain. Of course Russia would ruin the fun. He gritted his teeth, about to retort, when he caught China’s eye. The Ancient nation almost imperceptibly shook his head, and America clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and forced himself to remain calm.

“Blaming is almost useless now,” he retorted. “ISIS exists, and we can’t do anything about it. We can only stop them and Radical Islam forever.”

Russia just ‘kol’ed in response, looking very pleased. The superpower looked at his enemy, confused, but mentally shrugged it off.

“Anyways, China and I have devised a plan to deal with the terrorist groups in the Middle East, Asia, and North Africa. This is what we’ll do…”

* * *

**July 21, 2015**

**???**

Deep in the mountains, far away from the prying eyes of modern life, a small village was situated on a plateau. Consisting of mostly huts made of wood and thatched roofs, they were spaced some ways apart, each boasting a small, terraced farm and a pasture where sheep were kept. The sky above was a misty gray, with rain threatening to arrive in several hours’ time. Men were out tending the fields, and several women were doing the wash before it became too wet to do so.

A man walked through this small village, entering by the small dirt road that connected it to the outside world. Almost immediately he was deemed an outsider, as his clothes, western-made, contrasted greatly with the almost primitive tribal life that surrounded him.

One of the women stood upon his arrival, her washing forgotten as she called out to the men in the fields in an almost-forgotten dialect of the western-dressed man’s native language. One of the men in the fields, a young man perhaps twenty-five years old, was the closest, and he dropped his ox-driven plow at the call, shouting for a teenaged boy to take it up before trekking to the center of the village.

The western-dressed man waited patiently until the tribal man reached him, murmuring to the woman, who nodded and entered the hut. The tribal man bowed deeply to the western-dressed one.

“Ras Täfäri,” the tribal man murmured in a thick accent, not raising his head until the western man acknowledged him. “We are honored by your presence.”

“Is it true?” Ras Täfäri questioned, dark eyes scanning the village around him. “The rumors?”

The man shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “Some,” he conceded. “My son… he is either gifted by God or cursed by the Devil. Our priest cannot discern which.”

Whatever Ras Täfäri wished to hear, this seemed to be it. “I may be able to help, but I guarantee nothing. Bring me to him.”

The man nodded, mumbling gratitudes, and turned, guiding the man over to one of the sheep pastures, where several children were watching and tending to the animals. The woman from earlier exited the house again, rushing to her husband and murmuring into his ear. The man nodded, and the woman gave hurriedly gave her respects to Ras Täfäri before going back to the hut, where a baby had started to wail.

“Alemayehu!” The man called out. A little boy who was perhaps six or seven years old looked up from where he was sitting on a fence post. Like most of his people, he had black hair and dark brown skin, and was dressed in traditional tribal clothes. If Ras Täfäri had not been specifically looking for him, his eyes would have passed right over the boy.

Alemayehu jumped down from his post and ran over to his father, who knelt down and took the boy’s shoulders.

“Alemayehu,” the man said to his son. “This is Ras Täfäri. He may be able to understand and help you.”

The boy looked up at Ras Täfäri, who gazed down at him, curious but as of yet unimpressed. The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion.

“I have seen you before, in my dreams,” he announced coldly, much more articulate than a boy his age would be expected to be. “Biḥērawī. You are not a human. Not like us.”

Ras Täfäri’s eyes widened in shock, while the man began to sputter apologies, caught off guard. He raised a hand, cutting off the man with a wave, and knelt down to the boy’s height.

“Come with me for a moment,” he said. Alemayehu looked to his father, who, after a moment of deliberation, nodded shortly. Ras Täfäri stood, and with a hand on the boy’s shoulder, steered him away from the village center and prying ears and eyes. Alemayehu did not seem afraid, simply walking with Ras Täfäri until he stopped at a separation point between two of the farms.

Ras Täfäri looked down at Alemayehu, who simply gazed back at him with deadened eyes that looked decades older than his tender age.

“You _ see _ things others do not,” the elder man said curiously. “What do you _ see _?” The boy hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“Death. Destruction. Triumph. Pain. Things that have not yet come to pass.”

Ras Täfäri raised an eyebrow, thinking.

“You are a very special child, Alemayehu. Men like you are only born twice in a millennia. Even rarer is it for your gift to manifest so strongly so young. Now tell me. What do you _ see _? Specifically?”

Alemayehu, for the first time, looked frightened. “I see white men and black men fighting each other. Black men who are not like the rest of us. They are faster. Stronger. They kill many and destroy much more. I see the world changing on a basic level. Feats so impressive they are almost magical. And you, Biḥērawī, at the center of it all. You will kill millions and save billions more.”

Ras Täfäri hummed thoughtfully.

“When you _ see _again, tell your father. He send for me. Your village will never have want for anything again, Alemayehu, as long as you tell me everything.”

* * *

**Raqqa, Syria**

**September 2, 2015**

“Allah-u-Akbar[6]!”

“Duck!” Turkey shouted, covering his head with his hands and diving under a spare pile of rubble. America immediately heeded the Middle Eastern nation’s advice, throwing himself behind a crumbling pillar. The resulting “boom!” left the superpower’s ears ringing, with a cloud of sand and dirt flying up into the air.

America took a deep breath and adjusted his gun, positioning it into a shooting stance while he peeked over the side of the pillar. Broken-down buildings and the remnants of a human body greeted him, and the American relaxed ever-so-slightly, exiting his hiding place from behind the pillar and aiming his gun at any potential threats, scanning the rooftops and ruined buildings for rebel soldiers.

“Think that was the last of them?” He asked, lowering his gun ever so slightly, avoiding the bits of the terrorist now scattered about the clearing.

“Tch. It better be,” Turkey responded, adjusting his metal helmet. “That’s the fifth suicide soldier today. Any more and there won’t be any troops left to fight us.”

America nodded curtly, before making several hand signs behind him. Around fifteen or so American and Turkish soldiers made up the elite squad under Turkey and America’s command. So far, the top-notch team had made their way deep into the heart of ISIS’s capital, Raqqa, the city near deserted and demolished thanks to US bombing.

America and Turkey nodded to each other and pressed onwards, their soldiers following them silently as they made their way throughout the Raqqa’s streets.

“It’s such a waste,” Turkey muttered as they ran throughout the city. “I remember Raqqa in its prime. It was truly a beauty to be beheld.”

“I don’t disagree,” America replied. “I wish I had been there.”

“I’m not surprised you do. Our cities easily put yours to shame.”

America rolled his eyes but said nothing as they continued on.

The main forces of the USA, Turkey, and the other Middle Eastern countries had successfully wiped out most of the resistance in the city. Already, they were sieging the main building in the center of the city, where the last of ISIS’s resistance had bunkered down, refusing to surrender.

The squad continued on through the city, encountering little resistance on the way. America grinned to himself. The plan was working well. The Afghanistan Campaign had finished only a couple days earlier, leaving Raqqa the only city now under ISIS control.

Time passed and the team made their way to the center building where the main Turkish and American forces had camped out outside the building, a several story tall building made of. Several tanks were stationed around it, men operating machine guns around it as the radical Muslims oddly refused to reply.

“What are they up to?” Turkey said, and America hummed in agreement, narrowing his eyes as he made his way to the regiment surrounding the capital building.

As they made their way to find the commander of the regiment, however, one of the soldiers started screaming in Turkish and running from the building, the unfamiliar words incomprehensible to America. He looked to Turkey for a translation, then tensed as he noticed the former empire stiffen and those who understood the language begin to dive for cover.

“Duck!” His ally cried, throwing himself to the ground just as he had with the suicide soldier earlier. Eyes widening, America also doubled down, throwing his hands over his head just as a deafening crack thundered across the city, followed by a burning heatwave. A stray brick hit the superpower in the shoulder, making him wince and curl into himself.

After a minute or two, America cracked his eyes open, first with his right eye, soon followed by his left as he slowly unraveled from his position, wincing and putting a hand to where the brick had hit him in the arm. That was going to leave a mark.

The building the ISIS officials had holed up was now gone, now an ashen pile of rubble on the ground. There was no trace of any survivors, the confused American soldiers slowly beginning to recover from the explosion, orders beginning to be shouted from the officers to their men.

“Well,” Turkey’s voice sounded behind him, and America turned to face the elder nation. “That’s one way to defeat an enemy. Just let them kill themselves.” [7]

* * *

[1]- Ramadi and Palmyra are in the Middle East. Derna, Benghazi, and Sirte are all cities in Libya.

[2]- On April 10, 2015, ISIS hackers hacked the Turkmenistan website in Belarus, posting a picture of an ISIS man on it. As you can see, Turkmenistan is still pissed about the event.

[3]- Tajikistan has banned said practices, along with several others, in their country. Colonel Khalimov was a Tajik who defected to ISIS around 2014 (I couldn’t get a clear date).

[4]- ISIS stealing nukes from Pakistan is a real possibility.

[5]- From Ottoman influence. It makes Libya a bit of an anomaly in the African continent.

[6]- “Allah is the Greatest” in Arabic

[7]- I am so unsatisfied with this scenes. It's so bad it’s embarrassing, but I couldn’t figure out how to write it, so…


	3. Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping in the same style as VoidViper’s videos, the next couple chapters will be in sets of around 700-word drabbles, short stories in their own right. They won’t have much to do with each other, but will eventually merge into the main storyline.

**January 24, 2016**

**Moscow, Russia**

Russia smiled to himself, happily stirring his coffee as he, Belarus, and the other Central Asian nations sat around his polished dinner table. Next to him, Belarus was grinning ferally and muttering to herself (about marriage, probably), as Kazakhstan nervously fiddled with her braids and tried to calm down the Eastern European country.

On his other side, Tajikistan was re-reading some of her country's papers while Uzbekistan was rubbing a runny nose (poor guy seemed to get the flu every time it passed through his country). Turkmenistan and Kyrgyzstan were muttering to each other at the foot of the table, Kyrgyzstan looking disgruntled but resigned and Turkmenistan just tired.

“So has it all been set in order?” Tajikistan asked, setting down his papers. “My government has fully agreed and so has yours. I guess all we have to do is sign the document.”

Russia sipped his coffee, unable to hide his grin behind the steaming mug. “I’m so glad to find that you all are serious about this proposition,” he commented happily. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a full house.”

“Yes,” Kazakhstan hummed, twirling one of her braids in her hands. “It’s about time we established a union with all the Central Asian nations, even if it was with you.” A dark aura began to penetrate the room and Tajikistan shot a glare at the older woman, who blushed in embarrassment.

“What Kazakhstan _ means _,” the brown-haired woman accented the last word. “Is that we’re all still pretty unstable from all the fighting with radical Islam and ISIS, and we need to protect our people, as you very well know. A union with you was the best choice. After all, we were part of your Soviet Union. And a union without the communist party is very tempting, I have to admit.”

“Then the Eurasian Union it is!” Russia raised his cup as the other nations murmured their agreement. “We will sign the treaty and make it official now, da?”

Tajikistan nodded, quickly whipping out a pen and signing the document, passing it to Turkmenistan, and so on. As the paper moved around the table, Tajikistan turned to Russia.

“So, I hope you really aren’t planning to institute communism again,” she warned. “We have reserved the right to leave this union if we want to, but I’m putting my trust in you to lead us.”

“Ah, I have had my fill of communism for a long while,” Russia reassured the Central Asian, raising a hand in a soothing manner. “You have no need to worry, da?”

“If you say so,” Tajikistan sighed, before straightening and changing the subject. “So I’ve heard that America’s pulled out of world politics—drawn out most of his standing army in the Eastern Hemisphere, actually. Is it true?”

“Da!” Russia affirmed, nodding happily. “I’m quite excited about it, too. He was saying something about paying off his debt to China and upholding the end of some deal, I wasn’t paying too much attention.”

“I bet Israel wasn’t too happy about that,” the Tajik remarked. “Though the situation in the Middle East certainly has stabilized compared to last year. On the other hand, though, China has started to become a definite threat to both of you. He declared war on North Korea the other day; I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Ivan shrugged. “It was about time someone put that crazy nation in his place, da? China was not very happy with the North Korean landmines along his border, plus Kim Jong-un was starting to frighten a lot of people. China’s also a bit scared of his water and pollution issues. America’s research teams have come too little too late, and North Korea has a lot of resources Yao wants. Maybe they will become one with me, too?”

Tajikistan snorted to herself, ignoring the last comment. “The poor kid doesn’t stand a chance. I guess us Central Asians won’t be the only countries to be losing our independence—this year.”

“Da.”

* * *

**February 27, 2016**

**Sunchŏn, North Korea**

If someone had told Hyung Soo a month earlier that before February had passed, he would be losing his independence to China, the communist country would’ve laughed and walked away. However, the Korean teen reflected as he weaved through the broken-down tanks and his own people, alive and dead alike, he did kind of deserve it.

Hyung Soo, better known as the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea or North Korea, wasn’t really as bad as everyone made him out to be. Sure, he followed his leaders’ rules, but didn’t everyone else? And no, he wasn’t some deranged follower of Communism. It just happened to be the best form of government. Yes, he hated America (Capitalist Pig[1]), but no, he did not want to kill South Korea, even if he was _ an annoying little brat who just couldn’t keep his mouth shut and would run behind America whenever he came close— _

North Korea took a deep breath, held it, then let it out again, ignoring the pains in his right lung as he did so. It was not time to get like… _ that _… especially at a time like this.

After all, everything really had gone down the drain after China had invaded. His people were revolting, his armies deserting, and Kim Jong-un’s body, hanging from a noose, still echoed painfully in North Korea’s mind. His upper body was covered in scratches and injuries, and now the Chinese army, standing just outside of the town, was less than fifty miles from Pyongyang.

Hyung gritted his teeth as he passed a young teen, probably no more than sixteen, clutching the body of another boy around his age, tearfully asking him to wake up so they could fight off the Chinese and go home. North Korea forced himself to look away and sped up, walking almost at a jog, to try and get away from the carnage around him.

He really had messed up, hadn’t he? His people hated him, Aniki was trying to kill him, and he hadn't seen Yong Soo in years.

No allies.

No friends.

No one.

Hyung sighed, rubbing his face with a hand. Maybe falling to China wouldn’t be so bad. It certainly would be better than getting taken over by America or Japan.

_ Well, _ he thought, fingering the white fabric he was holding in his left hand. _ There’s only one way to find out. _

Finally, he reached an abrupt end to the buildings around him, and Hyung found himself staring right at the Taedong River, separating Sunchŏn from the eastern half of the city by only a thin bridge. The other side of the Taedong had already fallen to the Chinese. Personally, North Korea did not know why his enemies had not attacked the western half yet; maybe they were amassing a large attack force to push towards the capital, but the communist nation planned to stop that from ever happening. He had already lost so much; seeing Pyongyang in ruins would destroy him.

Taking a deep breath, North Korea forced his hands to steady, reaching into his bundle and pulling out an old metal pole. He knelt, keeping one eye on the Chinese line on the other side, and pulled out the faded white sheet from its place wrapped around the pole, letting the white flag flutter in the wind.

Hyung steeled himself and stood up, raising his flag high in the wind. His officers had already been notified of North Korea’s surrender. Now the only task left was to go through with it.

North Korea stood up straight, determined to have as much dignity as possible, and strode out onto the bridge, feeling the Taedong rush below him. Slowly, he took one step, then another, and then he was out on the bridge, feeling the wind buffet him and the flag, making it snap back and forth.

Across the river, Hyung heard the Chinese scramble behind their own lines, and he knew that several snipers were being trained on him as he walked across the bridge. But they wouldn’t shoot. Not if they wanted the whole world after them. Hyung’s heart pounded in his chest as he walked across the bridge. It was really over, wasn’t it?

By the time he had crossed three quarters of the bridge, though, the Chinese had reacted and an achingly familiar person was entering the bridge, flanked by three soldiers. His hair, tied up in a ponytail, swayed in the wind and his eyes were wide and flustered.

“This isn’t some trap, is it?” Aniki questioned as the soldiers rushed forwards, pointing their rifles at Hyung’s heart. “I’ll have you know that I have no less than a dozen snipers trained on you as we speak, aru. You better be telling us the truth.”

Hyung could help but laugh quietly to himself. “I remember a time where you used to welcome me with open arms,” he remarked. “My surrender is official. Kim Jong-un is dead. Just annex me already.”

Something unreadable flashed across China’s face, but North Korea didn’t look long enough to decide what exactly it was, falling down on one knee and keeping his eyes trained towards the dirt-laced bridge. He really didn’t deserve such mercy.

Suddenly, Hyung felt a strange warmth envelop him, and his eyes widened in shock as he realized that he was in an embrace. His hands relaxed and the white flag clattered to the ground as he felt China nearly squeeze the life out of him. His vision blurred.

“It’s so good to have you back home, Hyung.”

* * *

**May 7, 2018**

**Islamabad, Pakistan**

Pakistan frowned, hurriedly walking through the halls of his capital building. He was late. _ Again _. The Islamic nation scowled to himself; he needed to hire a better secretary, one who wouldn’t tell him at the last minute that his neighbor from the east was coming for a ‘visit.’

Pakistan’s frown deepened. Meetings with India rarely went well, and the last thing he wanted was to have another headache today. Two and a half years had passed since the eradication of Radical Islam, and he _ still _ was having immigrant problems. Why couldn’t Afghanistan just deal with his own problems and people?

Normally, Pakistan thought himself a pretty okay guy. All he wanted was for the world to leave him alone. But _ no _, India couldn’t just leave him alone. First it was his nukes, and now it was that stupid drone!

Shaking himself, Pakistan roughly turned a corner walked a couple steps, and took the last door in the dead-end hallway, entering a small conference room, with two hard backed chairs facing each other, a wooden table in between. And of course, India was already there, arms crossed on one side to the table, his black hair neatly combed as always and annoyingly friendly dark eyes glancing up towards him as he entered.

“Good morning, Iskandar,” he welcomed warmly. “I assume you’ve been having a good day?”

Pakistan ‘tsk’ed at India’s false—for what else could it be?—friendliness and almost scoffed [3]. “You can drop the pretenses, India,” he shot back. “I know you want to talk to me about something and knowing you it’s not going to be good, especially on such short notice. Get to the point.”

India’s face immediately lost its pleasant smile, instead turning an unsettling neutral. “I’m trying to stay civil, Iskandar. Please don’t try to test me.” He didn’t give Pakistan time to reply before continuing. “If you want to know so badly, it’s been a couple years since you’ve said you’ve shot my drone.”

“Shut up,” Pakistan cut in sharply, crossing his arms. “You just wanted to spy on and intimidate me. I had the right!”

“Are you really accusing me of that?” India replied. “You’re the one who brought it up first, after all.”

“And who asked you?” Pakistan challenged. “You’re the one who started it by sending out the drone!”

India frowned, standing up to his full height, a couple inches tall than Pakistan himself. “Don’t be a child, Pakistan,” he warned, the atmosphere darkening. “You don’t want to challenge me. Just apologize already.”

“Over my dead body!” Pakistan hissed, unafraid. Like he would step down to India!

“Do you really want a nuke in your territory?” India shot back, and a cold tendril of fear shot its way into Pakistan’s stomach. India had agreed to the no-first-use policy, so why was he bringing nuclear warfare into this [4]? It was probably just a bluff, or India had forgotten (he did have memory problems sometimes, after all). Yeah. Pakistan smirked to himself. India couldn’t go against his own country’s policies.

“You don’t even know how to use one,” he found himself replying. India’s face turned dark.

“What did you just say?” he whispered. “One last warning, Pakistan.”

“I said,” Pakistan accented the word, leaning in close. “You don’t even know how to use a nuke.”

“Want to taste one then?”

“How about you taste mine?” The Muslim country replied confidently. “Or do you really want to go against your NFU policy?”

India’s face snapped into an icy cold expression, and Pakistan knew his eastern neighbor knew he had been found out in his bluff. Was this really all he had come for? Pakistan rolled his eyes. This meeting wasn’t going anywhere.

“This is a waste of time,” Pakistan spoke after a tense moment. “If you don’t have anything else to say, I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Not until you apologize, Pakistan,” India insisted. “You shot my drone and I want an apology.”

“And you’ll do what? Declare war over something so simple? No one’ll support you, India, and you’ll lose what little world power you actually have.” Knowing he had won, Pakistan smirked as India scowled. For now. “Good day, India.”

Pakistan nodded his head to the other nation and turned around, opening the door to the meetingroom once again and exiting, shutting it behind him. Once safely outside, the Pakistani let out a large sigh and wiped a nearly invisible sheen of sweat off of his forehead.

He hated meetings with India.

* * *

**June 30, 2020**

**Beijing, China**

America winced slightly to himself as he shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, feeling very out of place in his seat. To his right, Tibet, a rather tall monk with gray-brown eyes, and Xinjiang, shorter than her elder brother with four long braids pulled into a ponytail, sat together, both in military uniforms and wearing menacing looks (well, Xinjiang was; Tibet had only managed to look mildly unpleasant[5]). One the other side, China, a bandage over his left shoulder, was looking positively livid, while Manchuria simply looked extremely bored, her arms folded laxly over the table, seemingly unaffected by the tense atmosphere that even Alfred could sense. Hong Kong also looked disinterested, though America had spent enough time around Delaware (that kid could be a miniature Sweden sometimes) to know that he was quite interested in the conversation (argument) that was going on.

“I don’t see why you just won’t give up already,” Xinjiang hissed, leaning over the table. “We’ve already taken over the lands we want. Give up and there will be no more bloodshed.”

“Never!” China shot back. “I have worked for decades to become a world power again and I’m not about to lose it because you two won’t settle down! I’ve treated you well!”

“Not well enough!” Xinjiang’s face almost mirrored China’s, and America was struck by how similar they looked. They could’ve been twins, he noted to himself. Maybe they were. “What about the passports [6]? Both of us deserve to be treated as equal citizens of yours, but you obviously don’t care enough to even do that!”

“It was to bring stability to your region after the wars with ISIS and radical Islam!”

“Not all of us are radical Muslims, Yao,” Tibet put in, his arms folded neatly. “We will not tolerate your presence any more. It is about time someone showed you that you can’t do whatever you want to your people, especially us. We will fight back if we have to.”

“Just give us our independence already!” Xinjiang burst, and America sighed to himself, putting a hand on his forehead. Yep. Xinjiang definitely could be China’s twin; they even had the same temper. He was getting a migraine from it already. “You’re fighting over nothing, China! Let us become independent already!”

“No! You are a part of me!” China shot back.

“AMERICA! TELL HIM/HER I’M RIGHT!” They both shouted at the same time, and America winced, migraine worsening. The perks of being a superpower, he mused to himself.

Alfred had been warned from coming to China, but no, he just had to not listen to the President’s advice and come anyways with his research teams. He had planned to get a slight vacation from politics and the chaos at home (his economy had gone down quite a bit last year due to his national debt; though his debt to China was mostly paid off, he still owed a lot to—quite ironically—himself, as well as Japan[7]) while doing something he loved. All he had wanted to do was to study science for a couple weeks and help China with his pollution problem.

But no, he just had to get dragged into Xinjiang and Tibet’s war for independence.

The two territories had been struggling against China for almost an entire year now in a war for independence. Funded by various countries who supported them, they had managed to take control of the entirety of their territories before the bulk of China’s armies had arrived, during which they had slowly begun to lose ground.

America had barely set foot on Chinese soil before he had been pulled off (quite literally) to mediate a ‘peace’ meeting between the various Chinese territories.

Then again, poor Taiwan looked like she hadn’t slept in days. America couldn’t imagine being a meditator for as long as she had and he couldn’t say no to her offer to sub for her for just one meeting.

Curse his hero personality.

Alfred took a deep breath. “Look, Yao,” he said, raising his hands peaceably. “Maybe you should just let them go. Tibet and Xinjiang obviously aren’t going to give up.”

“Why should I?” China protested. “My country is in danger!”

“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do,” America replied, feeling Xinjiang’s heated gaze suddenly sweep over him. “But look at the amount of deaths that this war has caused! This war has been going for almost a year and I’m sure most of your troops are tired.”

“Like, a lot of people are crossing the borders to India to escape the conflict as well,” Hong Kong spoke up. “I’m sure India would be, like, agreeing with America right now as well. The pollution is bad enough. Just let it go. You have Hyung, don’t you?”

“Oh, don’t go taking their side too!” China exclaimed. Hong Kong only shrugged, keeping his look of disinterest on his face, and looked away.

“Just let the problem be dealt with later,” he muttered under his breath.

“You need to focus on your more pressing issues,” America added. “Most of your population is on your east coast, so you won’t be losing too much, will you?”

China’s face worsened, if that was even possible, and for a long, tense moment, America thought that he would decline out of pride and resume the bloody fight anyways, before the ancient nation tore his gaze to the floor, ‘tsk’ing.

“Fine!” He spat, before looking back up to Xinjiang. “But this isn’t over!”

The Chinese woman smirked, folding her arms in victory. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

America groaned, placing his head in his hands.

Why did he ever agree to these things?

* * *

[1]- North Korea has copied the Soviet Union in more ways than one.

[2]- Interpret this as you like.

[3]- Actually, Pakistan usually isn’t usually this bad. He just really, _ really _ doesn’t like India, and vice versa. India’s just better at hiding it.

[4]- Also referred to as NFU, the No-First-Use policy is a pledge accepted by China, India, and (shockingly, I know), North Korea, to not use nukes in warfare unless someone else nukes them first.

[5]- Tibet’s a monk, so I’d imagine he’s not very mean, and Hima has described him as “pitiful and quiet,” so…

[6]- Basically, in 2015, China restricted outside travel in Tibet and Xinjiang. In this story, he went even further after he went to war against radical Islam. Obviously, neither Tibet or Xinjiang were very happy about it.

[7]- Ironically, the USA only owes (owed in this story) about 1.3 trillion dollars to China; instead, they also owe 1.1 trillion to Japan, over 5 trillion to itself (to the federal government; I’m not sure how that even _ works _), and 3.8 trillion to other countries (For example, they owe 264 billion to Brazil).

World News (Jan 24 2016 to June 30, 2020): 

1) Ukraine splits under tension with NATO and the Eurasian Union into West and East Ukraine

2) Revolution in Venezuela takes down the old socialist government and replaces it with a capitalist one, renaming the country New Order Venezuela (NOV).

3) Greece is kicked out of the EU due to its national debt. Turkey and East Ukraine are accepted in.

4) NOV seeks relations with the USA.

5) Greece’s debt crisis is slowly being taken care of.

6) Under ethnic tensions, Libya splits into Tripolitania, Fezzan, and Cyrenaica


	4. Rising Tensions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge thanks to Overpoint65 from Fanfiction.net, whose review has helped me put a name to what exactly's been bothering me about this story. When a World Meeting is Productive will be going through some extensive editing over the next few months, especially in its first half, and they have generously agreed to help me out as a part-time beta. I'll indicate in the chapter title what I've edited. The update schedule will not be affected, so just keep an eye out for when I start posting the edited chapters.
> 
> Also, if you aren't already, keep a close eye on the World News tab at the end of each chapter. Along with some funny tidbits, it'll also contain some plot-relevant information that isn't included in the main chapter.

**July 31, 2020**

**Brussels, Belgium**[1]

"Okay! The hero has another awesome idea!"

Germany sighed, placing a hand on his forehead in exasperation as he nodded to America.

"The chair recognizes the United States of America," he allowed, feeling too tired to even try to protest as America waved his arm wildly like an elementary student. "What do you have this time? Another superhero to stop global warming?"

America pouted at the Germanic nation. "Dude, stop being so uptight! I give good ideas, don't I? Didn't I formulate the plan that defeated ISIS?"

"And you've also insisted that a demigod superhero with some kind of tragic backstory could stop global warming," England put in. "So forgive us if we're a bit wary. Your plans tend to go on both sides of the spectrum."

America rolled his eyes, and Germany felt an increasing sense of helplessness at the young nation's excitement. That was not a good sign. Why couldn't NATO meetings actually get something done for once?

"Well I'm the dominant superpower here so you're gonna have to listen to me whether you like it or not!" America laughed. "I have been inspired! I have new plans for the world!"

Germany groaned, facepalming. _Here we go…_

"What's this new plan?" England sighed. "You've always had plans."

"Have you ever heard of the advanced satellite program Project X Terra 2020?" America asked, looking extremely proud of himself.

"No," Belgium answered in England's stead. "What is that supposed to be, exactly? Some sort of satellite system?"

"Yeah!" America laughed. "See, Belgium gets it! Basically, it'll let us see the whole world with more detail than any other satellite before it. You know, so we can plan better, and stop the bad guys before they even get a foothold!"

"And who exactly will have access to this new technology?" France questioned, still looking quite bored. "If you even have the tech."

America made a noise of offense as Norway voiced his assent.

"I agree with France," the Nordic nation spoke calmly and without visible emotion. "I would not trust bror, for example, with such a weapon."

"_Hey_!" Denmark exclaimed, slamming a hand down on the table. "I take offense to that! I'm perfectly capable of watching over myself!"

The Norwegian nation simply rolled his eyes and started choking the poor Dane with his own tie. Iceland, on Norway's other side, looked utterly embarrassed. Germany cleared his throat awkwardly and motioned for Norway to let go of Denmark before the situation escalated, who reluctantly did as he was told.

"As for who'll have access, I was thinking just us NATO dudes," America answered France's question. "'S not like I'm gonna share this with China or the Eurasian Union. I mean, I like Yao and all, but he hasn't exactly been on good terms with me since Xinjiang and Tibet got independence, and Russia's always been a dirty commie."

"It's 'it is,' and 'going to,' America," England interrupted. "Honestly, you need to stop butchering the queen's language. I hardly know why I even bother at this point."

America stuck out his tongue at his former older brother.

"Aw, you guys!" Italy spoke up, his usual closed-eye and cheerful grin plastered all over his face. "Stop fighting and eat pasta instead!"

"You're an idiot, Veneziano," Romano scowled, causing his younger brother to pout.

"Let's just get this done as soon as possible," Germany cut in. "America, I trust you'll tell us when your project—whatever it's called—is done?"

"It's Project X Terra 2020," Alfred corrected. "And duh, I will! The hero always has to keep his sidekicks and backup updated, or else he wouldn't be a hero! And I'm the hero!"

France groaned, and Germany quickly spoke up again, changing the subject to the next topic on the agenda—the Libyan states and their instability—before a fight broke out in the conference room… again.

* * *

**August 7, 2020**

**Mogadishu, Somalia**

"SOMALIA!"

Rihana Tesfa jumped, several papers flying out of her grasp as she did so. Turning around in a flash, the east African country narrowed her eyes and released a slew of curse words in Somali. Putting on a (very forced) smile, she looked up to see her two elder brothers entering her office, her door nearly off of its hinges from the force it had been opened with.

"What have I told you about seeing me?" Rihana sighed, sounding falsely pleasant. "You give me a headache, my brothers, and I thought I told you never to come in my presence again."

"Very funny, Somalia."

Rihana rolled her eyes. Of course her brothers would decide to come to her in a crisis like this.

The nation nearest to her was her elder brother, Ethiopia. He was uncharacteristically livid, his usually peaceable features morphed with rage. He had long, dark brown hair in a low ponytail, and was wearing his usual tan military uniform.

Just over his shoulder was Ethiopia's older fraternal twin, Abyssinia. He held his hair loose, unlike his younger brother, and in dreadlocks. His face was completely emotionless as usual, and unlike his brother, he wore his usual day-to-day clothes, a baggy white shirt with a golden stripe down the middle and black slacks. He looked quite bored, and was relaxed, hands in his pockets.

"This is all your fault, after all," Ethiopia continued, and Somalia rolled her eyes again. She seemed to do that a lot while in the presence of her family. Straightening herself, the 23-year-old nation put on a face of relative innocence, hiding a pang of fear in her stomach.

"What are you talking about?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't do anything."

_Except for a certain little problem…_ her mind whispered.

_But that isn't my fault,_ she shot back internally. _I have no control over this!_

"Does my government know you're here?" She said instead, trying to project a false sense of calm around her, and discreetly swept her eyes around her office, noting that her second-story window was unlocked. If worst came to worst, she could always try to run.

"No," Abyssinia replied. Ethiopia shot a glare at his elder brother.

"You're not helping," he hissed, and Somalia frowned. So the brothers were not united. That could be something to exploit, but then again, Ethiopia was extremely difficult to calm down when he went into one of his rages. Knowing Abyssinia, he had probably come to make sure his younger brother didn't get himself hurt. Or something. After World War 2, it had become practically impossible to be able to read her eldest brother, even after knowing him for over two millennia.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Merille exclaimed. "I told you! Now your country is dying off, and your creation is crossing _my_ borders! What the hell?!"

Somalia gritted her teeth. So he had found out after all. This wasn't good. She would have to contact her minister of defense, get their reserves ready. The chance of war between them had just shot up tenfold and she was not ready with all the other crap going on in her country.

It had all started several years ago, soon after the defeat of ISIS. Somalia had been struck with a devastating drought. Despite humanitarian aid from other countries, it just wasn't enough, and by 2017, almost half of her country was dying and she was on the edge of declaring a national famine[2]. Finally, the long-awaited rain had come, but it was too late for a large portion of her population, who died of dehydration and starvation. And in 2018, her people had begun to die of a relatively new strain of cholera that came with the rain. Her government—what was left of it, anyway—had invested whatever was available in developing a cure in conjunction with the CDC and the World Health Organization, but the process had been painfully slow, and somehow, three months ago, the "cure," still deadly to all human life, somehow escaped from the lab and had begun to spread, eventually spreading throughout several border towns close to the Ethiopian border. The "cure" had soon transformed itself into a virus, and began to run rampant throughout her country.

"You can't talk to me like this," Somalia hissed, clenching her fists. "I am doing all I can. You're just going to have to deal with the consequences!"

"Well, you should be able to take care of your own country!" Ethiopia shot back, his eyebrows scrunched together.

"And you yours! I have been suffering for almost five years, and I am not dealing with your spoiled demands!" Somalia roared, drawing herself up to her full height, only two inches shorter than Ethiopia was himself.

"Then maybe your people need a change of leadership," Ethiopia said, his voice drawing down into a malicious whisper. "After all, you aren't doing such a good job, aren't you?"

The pang of fear grew into a cold pit in Somalia's stomach, and she dug her fingernails into her skin to stop her hands from trembling. "You wouldn't dare. The African Union will not stand for this. It's against their policies[3]!"

"The African Union?! Don't make me laugh. They're just as useless as the United Nations." Ethiopia's face seemed to calm slightly, shocking Somalia. "You could just give up, you know. You would be happier with me. I'll help your food crisis and keep your people from dying from this virus. I know you wouldn't like it, but it'd keep your citizens safer and happier. I will become your ruler, and solve this crisis."

Somalia sighed, biting her lip. As much as she hated to admit it, the offer was tempting. To not wake up wondering what she'd be able to eat. To not live in the fear of collapsing from fatigue.

But Ethiopia can't help you with that, a voice whispered in the back of her head. He's only trying to take you down the easy way. He won't help you. He just came in screaming at you, for heaven's sake!

"Never," Somalia found herself murmuring, and Ethiopia shrugged, looking regretful.

"The hard way it is, then," he sighed. "If you are bent on making sure people die in this then I won't stop this war from happening."

Ethiopia turned on his heel abruptly, and Abyssinia followed his brother silently, not even sparing a glance at his younger sister. Abruptly, Ethiopia paused at the doorway, and sent a glance back at Somalia.

"I suggest you get your armies ready," he remarked, looking resigned. At least he had calmed down from his rage, Somalia noted. Was he really going to go through with this? Possibly killing his sister as he did so? She shook her head, trying to banish the treacherous thoughts. When had Ethiopia ever cared about her?

So caught up her internal conflict, she barely caught the rest of her brother's comment.

"I won't hold back on you just because I care for you."

And with that, Merille Tesfa left the office, Ezana right on his heels, leaving Somalia to reflect on her country and wonder just how she was going to survive this.

* * *

**March 16, 2021**

**Tripoli, Tripolitania**

Lovino sighed, straightening his suit as he walked through the hallways of the capital building. Next to him, his younger brother, Feliciano, was uncharacteristically silent, his ADHD[4] expressing itself through quiet fidgetings and humming instead of its usual, well, Veneziano-ness. Honestly, the Southern Italian was quite relieved. He loved his brother—no matter how annoying he was and how often he had to hit Feliciano over the head to get him to shut up—but he was so exhausting. Usually, Lovino would've left him at home to paint or make pasta or something, but today was important, and as much as Lovino didn't like it, Feli was going to have to come for the day.

Feliciano hadn't liked it much, either. The two had a steady balance with the rule of their country: Lovino usually took care of international affairs and politics, while Feliciano managed the economy and trade. However, today was different.

After all, it took both of the personifications to declare war on another country.

The pair was currently walking through the halls of the Capitol building of Tripoli, the capital of the young nation of Tripolitania, which resided in the northeastern region of what used to be the country of Libya. The nation had split three years earlier into three separate states: Tripolitania, Fezzan to the southwest, and Cyrenaica holding most of the east.

Normally, the Italian brothers would've trusted their former colony to sort out his own mess, but most of Libya's main export, oil and natural gas, went to his former bosses. After the country had collapsed into civil war, the oil industry had fallen with it. Libya had become too sick for the brothers to even consider trying to reopen trade, and it was difficult trying to find a new source of oil, with other powers (especially America, China, and India[6]) far outclassing them with their imports and willingness to pay quite a bit of money to get what they wanted.

With no oil, Italy's economy had begun to flounder, making for a very pissed Lovino.

Well, it was obvious that this point, Libya couldn't care for himself and was dragging others into this mess. That was cause enough to intervene, at least to the extent that by the time the UN got around to doing anything, the war would be over and Libya annexed.

"Fratello, how long do you think this meeting will be? I have to be home in time to make pasta tonight."

Lovino deadpanned his younger brother, the northerner simply humming to himself, and the Italian facepalmed.

"You're an idiot, Fratellino," he sighed, before waving his hands about. "It depends how long the _bastardos_ will fight back."

"Well, I hope we will win! It would be nice to win a war for once[6], wouldn't it, Fratello? Maybe we wouldn't be labelled such cowards!"

Lovino sent his brother a glare as Feliciano either spaced out or simply ignored his elder brother's irritation. He tended to do that a lot. Determined to catch Feliciano's attention, Lovino socked him in the arm.

Feliciano yelped and rubbed the place where he was hit, sent a wounded look to his brother, and then stuck out his tongue childishly. Lovino growled and Italy only rolled his eyes, a silent argument raging between the Italians.

Finally, Veneziano pouted and stuck out his bottom lip, giving in to his older brother. Romano smirked, relishing the victory.

This didn't last long, however, as the personifications of the Republic of Italy came to their destination, a conference room at the end of the hallway. Walking through the double doors, Romano put on a serious expression and drew himself up, ready to begin the meeting.

Sitting on the other side of the table was a mess of a man. Libya's usually wavy hair stuck up in multiple directions, and there were bags under his eyes as he looked up to nod silently at the brothers. The dark-skinned African was completely covered in bandages, and his green eyes held a sense of unfathomable weariness that only representing three warring countries could do.

"_Ciao_, Ahmed," Veneziano waved, sitting down with a large grin plastered on his face. Romano sat down beside his brother without a word. "How are you doing?" The north Italian began to babble without waiting for a response. "I'm doing _fantastico_. I've made a new painting of your coastline since I heard about your troubles. I hope you will be feeling better soon—you'll need to come and look at it sometime, I hope I got it right. Ooh! We should get all of the old colonies together! We could make pasta and sing and—"

Romano smacked Veneziano upside the head.

"Focus, fratellino," he scolded, then turned to Libya. "Where are your politicians? I thought we'd be talking to them."

The North African nation shrugged and folded his arms, looking quite satisfied with himself. "I have no idea. I never told them we were meeting."

Romano blinked, and then smirked. "I never knew you had it in you to something like this. Go to war without telling your governments? They won't be happy about that."

Libya frowned. "Do you know how hard it is to represent three different governments at the same time, all while they are all fighting each other? It's torture. I have constant migraines, injuries keep on popping up every other day, and Algeria and Egypt certainly aren't helping. If you two aren't going to annex me, they will, and it won't be pretty. At least I can expect some form of help from you two. The fact that you have good healthcare is also appealing. That unnamed virus that got Ethiopia to annex Somalia? It's come here, too. It's ripping through Africa; at this point I need all the help I can get before it comes full-force."

Romano blinked, then turned to glance at Veneziano, who looked utterly lost. The former rubbed his nose, exasperated. Of course he couldn't rely on his younger brother. He was utterly useless. Finally, he looked back at Libya.

"So should we expect resistance?" He asked. "It wouldn't be too bad if you went down without a fight[7]."

"Oh, there'll be resistance, all right," came the reply. "But it'll be disjointed and uncoordinated at best. Just ignore all the prissy politicians screaming at you and you'll be fine."

"Well I deal with the Potato bastard every meeting, so this'll be easy," Romano sighed, cracking his neck. "All this has been exhausting. I trust we'll be seeing you at our house by the end of the month, Ahmed?"

"I couldn't agree more. I am more than ready for a break from this nation stuff. I really don't see how you world powers can handle it."

"Trust me, I've wanted to kill all of those _idiotas_ since as long as I can remember. At least you only have two countries breathing down your neck 24/7."

Libya laughed, a pitiful rasp that shook his shoulders, and Romano stood up. "Come on, Veneziano, we can go now."

Veneziano grinned in delight, jumping up from his chair. "Ve, does that mean we can have pasta tonight, fratello?"

"Sure, whatever."

"PASTA!"

And with that, the Italian sprinted out of the room, hands up in the air, most likely to rush back home and scare the living daylights out of at least three people while flirting with whatever girls he could find.

Romano facepalmed as Libya smiled weakly.

"You have your hands full with that one," he remarked.

Romano groaned.

"You have no idea."

* * *

[1]- First this was in New York, then when I decided the POV would be Germany, I decided on Berlin. However, research (Wikipedia) tells me that the NATO headquarters are actually in Brussels, Belgium, so…

[2]- By the way, this is actually happening right now (at least when this is being written, in 2017). According to WHO, 6.2 million Somalis are in urgent need of humanitarian aid. Wow, and I had never heard of this before.

[3]- One of the objectives of the African Union is "to defend the sovereignty, territorial integrity and independence of its Member States."

[4]- A personal headcanon of mine. Just watch the series and you'll see it. This is coming from someone who has ADHD; it's really obvious when you realize how hyperactive and inattentive he is. I think he only has ADHD, not ADD; ADD doesn't include the hyperactivity part.

[5]- With Japan and South Korea close behind.

[6]- Ironically, Italy has lost only 2 of the 29 wars it has participated in as a united nation, 3 (including WW2—half of Italy was fighting for the Allies by the end of it, after all) finishing inconclusive, and the rest solid victories. I wonder where they got the 'pathetic and weak' stereotype from…? Here, Feliciano is showing a rare streak of sarcasm.

[7]- I've just realized that Italy and Romano, as well as several other Hetalia characters, may seem OOC. That's because VoidViper has his own characters and personalities for the countries in his YouTube series, and it's difficult to balance both personalities out within the storyline. Apologies in advance.

World News (July 31, 2020 to February 21, 2022):

1) USA is inspired by spiders on the National Geographic Channel to create new weapons based on it.

2) Canada introduces a new currency that is harder to counterfeit.

3) The Tokyo, Japan 2020 Olympics end. The USA wins the most gold medals.

4) China and South Korea discuss whether to unite Korea into one country again.

5) China continues to ban passports for religious minorities.

6) Idea of a man walking in hell in Turkmenistan is becoming more popular.

7) The unemployment rate in North America increases.

8) A new virus is discovered in Somalia by the World Health Organization

9) Ethiopia takes action against Somalia, blaming them for the virus and initiating the Ethiopian-Somali Disease War.

10) Nations are afraid of this unknown virus, and are beginning to look into the matter.

11) East Ukraine is collapsing due to an overwhelming majority of the population wanting to join Russia

12) China implements sponge cities to avoid floods

13) India and Nepal's relations worsen due to conflicts over fossil fuels

14) Italy's attempt to stabilize and reunite itself with Libya is ongoing

15) Italy announces that it will occupy Libya until the disease crisis is stabilized

16) People in divided Libya are not getting along, making them an easy target

17) Italy starts chasing rebels that are trying to escape to Algeria

18) Italy annexes Libya and starts an antiviral plan


	5. Peer Pressure

**February 21, 2022**

**New York, USA**

America sighed to himself, slumping down in his seat and pulling out his phone as the nations around him began to file out of the room. G20 Meetings were so exhausting, and he couldn’t even just ignore everyone and annoy England like he usually did, as it was his turn to host. Thank goodness it was over..

Alfred yawned, doing his best to keep his eyes open against the sleep that threatened to take him at any moment. He’d been up most of the night before, having just come back from a trip to China, and had an early-morning meeting with his top scientists about the new “Spidertech” his government was developing. Honestly, usually the American would be excited for the new technology, as he had helped come up with it himself, but now it just annoyed him. It took away too many sleep hours.

Suddenly, America felt a dark force behind him, and the fatigue began to drain away, replaced with an uncharacteristic scowl, setting his phone down on the table. He was not in the mood to deal with all of this crap today.

“Good morning,  _ Америка _ ,” a deep voice giggled behind him. “How is your advanced satellite development going?”

America froze, his insides twisting. Advanced satellite development? Did he mean Project X Terra 2020? If so, how had he found out about the secret NATO project? Was he being paranoid? Should he stop asking himself questions? Should he actually answer the question? Probably!

Swiftly, the exhaustion that had settled into his bones evaporated, leaving adrenaline in its wake. Shaking himself and recovering rather quickly, if he did say so himself, America forced a puzzled expression on his face and turned to the towering Russian, raising an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of confusion.

“What are you talking about?” He asked. “Have you finally put too much vodka into your system, you dirty Commie?”

Russia’s—no, the Eurasian Union’s—smile twitched slightly; if America hadn’t known him so well, he would’ve missed it. The superpower’s insides twisted. That wasn’t a good sign.

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to?” Russia questioned. His smile turned much more sinister, and a dark aura began to permeate the room. Around them, America sensed some of the nations stop to watch the scene between the two superpowers. Ivan seemed to notice this as well, as he raised his voice so that everyone remaining in the conference hall could hear. “You and NATO really need to get better security. Project X Terra 2020, your advanced satellite mapping system. Why is it not globally available?”

So he did know. America cursed under his breath in several languages. Whoever had slipped this little tidbit to the Eurasian Union was not going to have all their limbs tomorrow. Dropping his confused façade completely, America frowned at Russia, pushing the whispers from the remaining nations that began to dot the meeting place to the back of his mind.

“Why should I?” He challenged the intimidating man, and he could feel a horrified gasp permeate the crowd. He inwardly rolled his eyes. Wimps. “I invented this for NATO, not for any wannabe nation off the street!”

“Perhaps,” Russia’s grin seemed slightly forced, and America could feel the temperature in the room drop at least fifteen degrees. “But maybe the virus inside your borders will change your mind, da? Remember Ebola? This will only get worse.”

Alfred’s ring finger twitched, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. He had this. He had survived the Cold War, come out on top, even, and he could do it again. He was the Hero, and Heroes never lost, especially to dirty commies!

“And what does that have to do with me now?” He countered. “I had, like, what, eleven people get Ebola in my country[1]? And more importantly, why do you care?”

“Well, if you aren’t willing to make the satellite systems global, we can always solve this problem the old fashioned way, da?” Russia’s smile turned sinister. “But aren’t your troops too sick to fight the likes of me?”

“Bring it on,” America hissed, standing up to face Russia, who only smiled deeper. “Last I’ve checked you’ve been hit too, so we’re even.”

“America, not now….” He could hear Canada’s worried voice behind him, but he didn’t care. If he didn’t stand up to the dirty commie, what would the others think of him?

The whispers would only get worse…

Russia’s voice snapped him out of his inner monologue.

“I already have a vaccine for the new virus,” he announced loudly, and the surrounding nations, America included, started. The superpower cursed in almost a dozen[2] different languages internally.

_ Has Russia already come to match my power again? Have I underestimated him? _

“What about you?” The Russian questioned confidently. “Also, what would you do if I decided to tell all the nations listening in on our conversation just why I am conversing with a capitalist pig?”

Before America could quickly respond with a witty retort, a new voice cut into the battle between the two World Powers.

“I heard,” India frowned, crossing his arms as he stepped up, unafraid. “Now tell me, what exactly is going on here? If another World War Three is about to begin, I would certainly like to know why.”

America froze, then turned to the rising world power. India only raised an eyebrow questioningly, his face in an impassive mask.

“I know.”

Everyone in the room spun around to spot Japan, sitting only a few seats down from America and the Eurasian Union. He was putting some documents in a paper, before standing up respectfully and bowing to India.

“A new satellite system America-san has neglected to tell us about, if what I hear is correct,” he announced, and America’s nails dug into his palms. He and Japan hadn’t been on very good terms lately[3], and he could tell that the eastern nation had entered the conversation just to prod at him and his reputation. Passive-aggressive, just like Canada.

India frowned, his expression turning accusative as America noted some of the non-NATO nations turning to glare at him. America glanced back at Japan, who simply kept his composure and continued sorting out his documents.

_ If he goes World War II on me again, I swear I am going to scream. _

“Well then.” America turned once again to face Russia, who looked triumphant. “You will make this project of yours global, da?”

America gritted his teeth as he glanced around him. Thankfully, most of the countries in the meeting room had left already, but he could still count at least half a dozen eavesdropping into the conversation. Word would spread like wildfire once they left this room. Alfred caught sight of Germany in the crowd, who was subtly shaking his head ‘no,’ and mouthing ‘don’t you dare.’

But was risking World War III with Russia and India really worth keeping a satellite system?

“Come on America, make your choice,” Romano spoke up, also seeming to have been listening in, though he seemed to not be in his usual bad mood. Odd[4]. “Now isn’t the best time to go and do your own thing. Each choice is good  _ and _ bad. When Veneziano and I occupied Libya, we did what we thought was best. What is best for all of us?”

“Make it global!” China put in his own two cents.

The pause drew out longer, with America internally battling with himself over what he should do. Should he refuse, standing up to Russia, staying in control of the project he had spent so much on, and keep the little respect he had worked so hard to gain? Or yield, possibly preventing another arms race and/or World War but losing the trust of his allies and his power in the process?

He kept his eyes averted from Russia, desperately trying to decide in the few seconds he had left before the Russian’s patience wore out, and his eyes caught sight of his cell phone, still lying on the table. Attached to it was a little clay charm that was supposed to be a bird, but one couldn’t really tell unless they were told. Puerto Rico, one of America’s youngest sons at six years old, had made it for him.

What was he thinking?! The answer to this dilemma was obvious.

_ Sorry Ludwig, but before I am a country and an ally, I am a father. _

“Fine. I’ll make it global.”

Russia grinned, but America did his best just ignore him and the scene they had created. Instead, he picked up his phone, fingering the little bird charm, doing his best to pretend he didn’t notice Germany’s glare on the back of his head, or Japan’s eerie smirk, or India’s victorious demeanor.

America turned around, leaving the conference room and entering the hallway. Being a hero was a lot harder than he ever would have expected it to have been back when he was a kid, but… he had promised to never put any of his children in danger again. He made a mental note to visit Florida[5] when he got home.

Being a hero was a full-time job, and sometimes he just needed to take a break from it all.

* * *

[1]- 4 cases diagnosed in the US, and 7 evacuated to American hospitals after contracting the disease elsewhere.

[2]- There is no official language in the US, therefore he can speak the dozens of the major languages inside his borders.

[3]- Trading disagreements. Basically, Japan got upset that America paid off most of his debts to China and not to him. Relations are a bit tense at the moment, and Kiku is being passive-aggressive to Alfred, hoping to cause a stir in revenge for not yet being paid back. Japan has also had his eyes set on annexing South Korea since North Korea was annexed by China, but as South Korea is under the protection of America, he can’t do that. So yes, Japan and America are not very friendly with each other right now. Sorry I didn’t put this in the story, but this happened gradually over the course of several years and I didn’t know how to write that without drawing attention away from the main plot. Thus, this extremely long footnote.

[4]- I am so, so sorry for Romano’s OOC-ness. His countryball in VoidViper’s story is calm and analytical. I’m doing my best to keep him in-character, but it’s very difficult.

[5]- I just think that upstate Florida would be like America’s summer house, where he goes to relax and vent out.

World News (February 21, 2022 to March 21, 2022):

1) Eurasian Union receives information on advanced satellites in NATO

2) New Order Venezuela requests to become an ally of the USA

3) China continues to create more sponge cities

4) The disease spreads through North America and Africa

5) The Eurasian Union develops a vaccine to the virus, but has yet to release it to the public

6) The United Kingdom receives inspiration from the Discovery Channel. They begin on a new project, ignoring the rising tensions between the USA and Eurasian Union

7) New Zealand asks what would happen if trees never existed in the first place

8) Hong Kong has lost his shopping interests

9) The people of North Korea are demanding to become independent

10) Greece finds primitive tribes on the unexplored island and takes the necessary precautions

11) Switzerland’s tasty new chocolate the Tasty Swiss has earned the most delicious chocolate title in the world

12) Italy makes progress in creating a vaccine for the virus

13) Ethiopia now has 16 quarantine zones

14) There has been a malfunction in the Satellite systems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter is short. 
> 
> Chapter 1's edits should be out soon!


	6. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Names:
> 
> America—Alfred F. Jones
> 
> Florida—Felix Jones
> 
> Puerto Rico—Pedro Jones
> 
> Venezuela—Elisa Bolivar Paez
> 
> Ethiopia—Merille Tesfa
> 
> Abyssinia—Ezana Tesfa

**March 3, 2022**

**Niceville, Florida**

"I. Hate. My. Life." Alfred groaned, flopping over on his back, his head hanging over the edge of his queen-sized bed as he spread his arms and legs like an eagle over the covers. His head throbbed, he let out a frustrated grunt, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes. Stupid body. Stupid world. Stupid government agencies who couldn't keep a damn secret to save their lives.

"Yo, Dad? What's happened this time?"

Alfred blinked, turning over onto his belly and looking up to the doorway, where a 16-year-old boy leaned on the doorway, his bed-headed wavy brown hair sticking in every direction. He had deep, green eyes, a lazy expression, and wore a forest-green t-shirt and cargo shorts.

"Oh, hey Felix[1]," Alfred sighed, burying his head into the mattress. "'s nothin'. People are being annoying know-it-alls, that's it."

Florida frowned, coming into the room. "That's all? It's not very often you just come bursting into my house and flop onto a random bed without as much as a hello."

"I don't recall asking you anything."

"Okay, what's _really_ happened?" Felix sat down next to his father on the bed. "You only come down to see me when you absolutely need a break, and that hasn't happened since 9/11."

Alfred turned his head to get a better look at his son, sticking out his tongue as he did so. "Hey! I'm the father here! Shouldn't I be asking _you_ these questions?" he huffed.

Felix shrugged. "Physically, you're only four years older than me, Dad. If I don't ask, who's going to?"

"Remind me how in the world Spain raised you to end up this mature. The guy can't go a day without Romano or tomatoes yet he pumped out you. Can you please tell me his secrets? Maybe Puerto Rico will turn out okay, then."

Felix laughed. "51st time's the charm, isn't it?"

"Shut up."

"Oh, don't worry, Papa. You've messed all of us up horribly, so at least there's no one good enough to compare us to!"

Alfred glared at the sunshine state, and Felix covered his mouth with one hand, trying to stifle his giggles with little success. Huffing, the world superpower rolled over onto his back, intent on giving the southern state a piece of his mind, but was suddenly cut off when a newer, much younger voice cut between the two nations' conversation.

"¿Papa? ¿Estas en casa[2]?"

Alfred blinked, surprised, before grinning and sitting up in his bed. Standing at the edge of the doorway was a little boy in cargo shorts and a blue T-shirt. He had the same unruly black hair as Felix, though his eyes were a dark brown, and he had perfectly tanned skin.

"Yo, Pedro!" He exclaimed, his face lighting up with a burst of energy as he leapt off the bed to meet his territory. The boy, upon seeing his father, burst into a huge grin and squealed, running forwards and leaping into his arms. Alfred grunted as he caught the child, pretending to be put off by his weight. "¿Has crecido desde que te vi por última vez?"

"¡Te vistió la semana pasada!"

"¿Qué? Ha pasado tanto tiempo?"

"¡Eres tan tonta, papá!"

"¿Tonto? ¡Te voy a mostrar tonta!"

With that, America jumped up to his full height, swinging the American territory of Puerto Rico up above his head, much to the excitement of the little boy, who squealed and giggled with pleasure. Felix shook his head, looking slightly exasperated.

"Pedro, estaba tratando de hablar con papá," he cut into the two nation's playtime, crossing his arms.

Puerto Rico adopted a sheepish look. "¿Estabas? Lo siento."

Alfred shook his head good-naturedly, dropping Pedro back into his arms. The young territory snuggled into his father's arms, burying his face into Alfred's jacket. "Hueles bien."

Alfred chuckled, patting Pedro's head. "Good to know," he replied, switching back to English. "How have you been, staying with Felix?"

"Bueno."

"English, Pedro. You're going to have to get used to speaking like this sooner or later. It _is_ the official international language right now[3]. You can't speak Spanish forever, kiddo."

Puerto Rico frowned, jutting out his lower lip. "No like it," he pouted. "Hard."

"You can say that again."

"Tell England language is _estúpido_."

"I don't know, Pedro. I don't think he'd like that."

"Don' like."

"_Don't_, Pedro, not _don'._ Man, I'm starting to talk like Iggy now! Look at what you're doing to me!"

"Dad, seriously," Felix interrupted the conversation again, crossing his arms. "What happened at the last World Meeting? I mean, I know they're usually bad, but this seems worse. I can feel it, and Gaia[4] can feel that something's off as well."

Alfred sighed. He had forgotten that the satellite bases were in Georgia and Florida. The two probably could feel it when the satellite systems had gone worldwide. No doubt Gaia had panicked and told everyone, which was why Felix was pushing so hard to know what was up. Ugh, and he had wanted to keep the states out of this.

"I put Project X Terra 2020 available worldwide a couple days ago," he explained, just deciding to put it out there completely. "You were probably feeling the tech going to the other countries."

Felix froze, shocked, as Pedro whined, not understanding what his older brother and father were talking about. The state blinked as Alfred met his gaze seriously. Pedro tugged on the hem of Alfred's jacket.

"Really?" Felix asked. "Why? You were so dead-set on only letting NATO in with our tech, and we made sure to put it under our most classified information. Why did you just let everyone get access to the project all of a sudden?" He frowned. "Did they make you, Dad? During the World Meeting?"

"Well, they didn't _make_ me," Alfred defended himself. "It was my decision! I did it so I could get better relations with the Eurasian Union. He has the antidote to the virus, and if we can get on good enough terms with him, he might be willing to share the vaccine with us. Maybe New York will start feeling better soon."

Felix nodded, buying the lie, and Alfred sighed inwardly with relief. Though part of him withered at the fact that he was manipulating him like that, Felix shouldn't have to worry about this whole fiasco any more than he should. The last thing he needed was half the states demanding why he had let PXT 2020 go online worldwide.

"Well, you aren't going to reveal the SpiderTech to them, right?" he asked. Alfred shook his head.

"No way! That stuff is even _more_ important than Project X Terra 2020! I'm not letting anyone get ahold of something as revolutionary as that. NATO doesn't even know yet."

"Good, because—"

_Knock, knock!_

The two jumped, and Pedro clung tighter onto his father, as if sensing his family's sudden jump in tension. Alfred glanced over at Felix, raising an eyebrow in a silent question, and the sunshine state only shrugged, signaled that he wasn't expecting anybody.

Frowning, Alfred passed off Pedro to Felix, motioning the two brothers to stay in the bedroom as he entered into the hallway, walking through the living room, making sure not to pass into view of the open window near the front door, before putting an eye to the peephole in the door to see who was knocking unannounced.

Standing on the other side of the door was a Latino woman, looking to be around 19 years old, with curly, short brown hair. She wore a pink embroidered blouse and tight white pants, along with a lot of beaded jewelry. She seemed to be slightly nervous, and was tapping her foot impatiently. Alfred nearly recoiled when he saw her.

What was _Venezuela_ doing here?!

Shaking himself, America frowned, trying to figure out how she had found out where he was. He had purposefully left his work phone and laptop in D.C., so somehow tracking him to Florida wasn't really an option. He hadn't even told anyone where he was going, save for a couple of his states! This was getting ridiculous. Couldn't he get just one day away from world politics?

America shook himself with a sigh and put his hand on the doorknob. He was the hero, for heaven's sake! When did he get so paranoid? Taking a deep breath, he put on his hero's grin and opened the door abruptly, startling the nation on the other side. Venezuela blinked at him, stumbling back a bit at the sudden welcome.

"Yo, what's up, Venezuela!" He exclaimed, stepping aside to let the South American nation in. To her credit, Venezuela didn't look too off-put by America's outgoing behavior, giving a small smile herself and entering the household, taking off her shoes and setting them by the door.

"New Order Venezuela," she corrected politely, seemingly unoffended by the mistake. America watched her closely, internally hoping that Felix would keep Pedro quiet in the other room. "I haven't been Venezuela since my revolution back in 2016. It's nice to see you, again, America."

"Yeah," America replied cheerfully. "I haven't seen you outside of World Meetings since your oil industry opened up. I visited you for, like, a month then. When was that? During the 1920s?"

"I believe so," Venezuela replied, standing with a raised eyebrow. "I remember how you taught me baseball—the one thing besides oil that you seemed to be interested in."

America frowned at the slight jab at his past, but did his best to brush it off. Inciting a conflict so soon after the G20 fiasco probably wouldn't be the best idea. "Hey, your country was a nice place! I liked it!" He shook himself, knowing that he shouldn't be distracting them by wasting time on small talk. "Anyways, would you like a seat on the couch? I'm kinda surprised you're here actually. I'm supposed to be on vacation!"

Venezuela started, surprised as she took the offered seat, and America raised an eyebrow as he sat on the couch next to her. _Really, _he thought. _What did you think I was doing in the panhandle of Florida?_

"Oh," the South American squeaked, her cheeks coloring. "Were you? I called your work phone, one of your states answered and told me that you were here for the moment, and I assumed that it was just because of your satellite program being released worldwide or something."

America blinked, now also moderately surprised. "Really? Who told you that?"

"Um, I forgot her name," Venezuela's cheeks colored even further. "Uh, she was a girl and talked about some new anime that was out, if that helps."

America nodded. Only one state currently in D.C. had that description. "I think that that was Colorado, then. That's odd, though, because she knew I was taking a quick break from work. I wonder why she didn't tell you that. She's not much of a trickster. Usually." He paused, then shrugged it off, making a mental note to ask Cody about it later. "Anyways, why are you here? You came all this way, I might as well talk to you." He laughed shortly.

"Well, America," Venezuela began, her hand flying up to her face to brush back a strand of loose hair. "I'm sure you know that I'm more of a capitalist right now, and my people have recently been pushing for a more, well, reputable reputation internationally. So I wanted to come see you and ask, um, can I join NATO?"

"Join NATO?" Alfred echoed, slightly surprised. Besides Macedonia and West Ukraine (well, the only Ukraine since East had collapsed and joined Russia back in 2020), not many countries had really been aspiring to become part of NATO. Besides that, Venezuela was in South America and a long ways out of the alliance's zone of influence, making the offer come out of left field.

"Um, yes," Venezuela replied fiddling with her hands. "You see, my people are quite adamant about this, and we've sent our letters of intent to NATO[5], but we have yet to receive an answer. I wanted to speak with you, and see if NATO is willing to let me in. I mean, technically I am in the Northern Hemisphere and border the Atlantic, so…" she laughed nervously.

America frowned, putting a hand to his chin as he thought. Venezuela _could _be a powerful ally. She was seeking him out to try and better her chances of getting in, and she would increase NATO's sphere of influence into South America. But Venezuela's government was still young, and her economy very fragile. NATO was already spread thin with the Ukraine split and Eurasian interference, and he didn't want to add to their issues an unstable country.

"Well," he began after taking a moment to think. "You have to understand that we won't be able to let you in just yet." At Venezuela's crestfallen expression, he hurried to continue. "_But_, you're still young, Venezuela. I don't see that when you finish all your reforms and meet all of NATO's requirements, we won't let you in. Just keep on doing what you are now and we'll go from there."

"Alright then!" Venezuela stood up quickly. No doubt she was looking to leave as soon as possible to save face. Alfred followed her lead, feeling bad for her but not bad enough to cancel his entire vacation to entertain her. He made a mental note to have Virginia have a _talk_ with Colorado once she left. "I will continue to try and improve myself and my country. Thank you for speaking with me today."

"Good!" America replied, sticking out his hand. Venezuela shook it. "And since we'll probably be meeting more after this, just call me Alfred."

"Alfred?"

"Well, yeah, that's my human name. For informal situations and stuff. If you want the full one, it's Alfred F Jones!"

"Oh, um, well," Venezuela stuttered a bit, caught off guard. "I'm Elisa Bolivar Paez."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance with you!" Alfred laughed. "You've just made friends with the hero, so be happy!"

"Okay. I'm so sorry to have bothered you on your vacation; I really had no idea that was why you were here."

"It's fine."

Elisa nodded, curtsying politely. Alfred also bowed sloppily, not really trying but feeling it would be rude not to bow at all.

"Thank you for your time," Elisa said, putting her shoes back on. "I'll see you at the next World Meeting, I assume?"

"Sure, dudette!"

And with that, Elisa left the house. Once the door was shut, Alfred collapsed back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. _Really, can't I ever get out of World Politics?_ He asked himself. _This is so exhausting._ He frowned, looking over through the open window to see Elisa hitting herself several times on the head as she walked back to her car. _Huh. I wonder why she's doing that. In fact, why did she go out of her way to meet me at all? She could've just as easily emailed or called me and waited for me to get back her._

_Girls are so weird._

* * *

**February 28, 2023**

**Addis Ababa, Ethiopia**

Ethiopia was not feeling well.

It wasn't your normal type of physical sickness; no, what Merille was feeling was a pressure in the back of his mind, a kind of discomfort that was very difficult to explain. It was just incessantly _there_. No matter what medication he took, there was always a slight stiffness to his limbs as he moved, a deep throbbing behind his eyes, a lack of appetite when it was time to eat.

He sat down in his living room, trying to ease the pain in his head by rubbing his temples. Somewhere out there, he knew Somalia was out seething about how he had annexed her; her people were probably causing this headache right now. It wouldn't be the first time.

Merille just couldn't see any other way to take care of the problem. Rihana's virus was a threat to her people as well as his, and even though she was his sister, they hadn't been on good terms with each other since World War II, anyways (and they had hated each other on and off for centuries before that). Taking over Somalia had been the right choice. Even now, his people were taking care of what remained of hers.

Merille sighed, draping an arm over his face. It was times like this when he really hated his life. If only he and Rihana were on better terms, maybe the both of them would start feeling better. Hm. Maybe he could invite her over later? Try and talk things out with her. He really did need to learn how to control his temper. Maybe if he cooked her some Wat[6]…?

Even as the thought passed through his mind, Merille laughed, and brushed it aside. Rihana wouldn't forgive him, and rightfully so. She _did_ kind of deserve what she got, though. He never understood why they couldn't ever get along.

Suddenly, Merille was ripped out of his thoughts as a stabbing pain resonated in his chest, near his heart, the sensation similar to being stabbed in the chest with a knife. He gasped, a hand flying to his chest, as he fell to his knees. His lungs suddenly felt full to the brim, and he coughed, his free hand flying to his mouth as he hacked. Reflex tears filled his eyes, as something wet and sticky hit his hand. Merille gasped for air as soon as the thing was unblocked from his chest, pulling away his hand from his mouth to find it coated in a mix of blood and phlegm.

His eyes widened, and Merille's blood turned to ice. Headaches, pain in the heart, coughing up blood… something was happening. Something really, really bad.

_Dammit! Is it a terrorist attack? Is Somalia full-on rebelling? Shit, I should've noticed this earlier!_

Merille grunted, using his bloodied hand to steady himself as he stood, blinking the reflexive tears out of his eyes. He needed to find his way to the phone, and call his government to find out what had happened. Ezana would be on his way home from work right now, too; if he was hurt like Merille was he was going to need help.

But what just had happened? The question thudded at the forefront of his mind.

As if on cue, the front door opened behind him. _Ezana's home!_ Merille nearly collapsed with relief; if he could make sure Ezana was okay, then things would get a lot better. A moment after the door opened, however, much to his confusion, the sound of echoing boots thundered into the house, followed by the clicking of guns being loaded. Merille knew that sound all too well.

Cursing to himself, Ethiopia ducked under his couch, grabbing the pistol that he usually kept hidden underneath. He checked it to make sure it was loaded, and steadied it in his still-trembling hands as he peeked over the corner of his sofa.

Uniformed men in camouflage and bulletproof jackets were racing into the room. Gritting his teeth, Ethiopia shoved any questions he had to the back of his mind as he steadied his hands. He took a moment to aim, and then fired on the soldiers that had invaded his home.

The first soldier to have entered his house cried out as his side was hit by a bullet, but it wasn't fatal, the man only clutching at his chest where the bullet had hit his vest. Ethiopia scowled; he had always been a horrible shot. Almost immediately, the other soldiers rushed him, the sofa erupting into stuffing as at least five bullets hit it in a quick succession. Ethiopia gritted his teeth and fired several more times, hitting one man in the face, two in their limbs, with three more shots missing entirely.

He ducked after the seventh bullet, racing from his hiding spot before it was overrun to dive behind his dining room table, partway across the room. He hissed in pain as a shot grazed his calf, but made it over in time to throw over the table as the soldiers came closer. Adrenaline sang through his veins as he steadied his hand to fire again. His gun had ten bullets, and he had just used seven. Three left.

_Better make them count._

He whipped around the table to see at least a dozen men in his house, and swore. Taking a breath, he aimed again, and fired as his opponents did the same. Thankfully, his last three shots each hit a person, but another bullet clipped his forehead, and he ducked behind the table once again as his blood began its warm descent down the left side of his face. The shots thundered against the table, causing it to splinter, and the African took a moment to wipe away the blood that was rushing down into his eyes.

Abruptly, Merille's left hand exploded into pain, and he drew it into his other hand with an involuntary cry. It was coated in blood from taking a direct hit. A bullet had made its way through the table, the hole gleaming as the country hissed. What the hell was even going on?!

However, the pain came back in a wave, kicking his mind back into the present. He grabbed his empty gun just as another bullet hole burst through the table, just shy of his shoulder. He winced involuntarily as footsteps came closer, the troops closing in like a predator moving for the final strike on their prey. As soon as Merille sensed that their presence was close enough, however, he leapt up from his hiding spot and brandished his gun in his good hand, feeling a satisfying '_thunk_' as he hit his target. The soldier he had hit thudded to the ground, and Merille quickly grabbed the man's gun and retreated back to the table as three bullets more whizzed past him.

He glanced over the gun, trying to figure out its model. It was a vz. 58, not too bad. He didn't have much experience with it personally, but his army used it, so it would do. He peeked back around the table and began shooting blindly, not really knowing what he was doing now but determined to fight off his attackers. A cry came up from the men, signaling the success of at least one bullet.

However, the small victory was short-lived as the back of his head exploded into pain. Vision swimming, he whipped around to see that one of the soldiers had snuck up on him from behind and hit him with the butt of his gun. He turned around and shot several more times, and the man went down, but not before two more bullets hit him in the side and arm. His arms slackened with the last shot, and he finally collapsed, adrenaline no longer able to keep him going.

Dimly, he registered hitting the ground, his vision swimming as the room quieted, leaving the roar of the gunshots to echo in his ears alone. Was he dying? Was he going to revive?

"Well, well, Merille. I have to say, I'm impressed. You held out a lot longer than I expected. Taking out six of my men? I really shouldn't be surprised."

The voice was blurry through the waves of pain that came from each heartbeat. The world spun around him and he tried to get up, but his arms refused to cooperate. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he just couldn't find the time to try and place it with the stinging pains all over his body. He groaned, trying to blink the world into view, but it was no use, and it continued to spin in a blur of color.

"It's really too bad. If only we could've had the chance to talk this out, then maybe you could have joined me. But I think we both know you would've said no."

His vision steadied somewhat, enough to recognize that a figure was standing over him, holding something in his hand. Everything was too blurry to make out.

"Say hello to Mother[7] for me, little brother. At last, the virus will be in only my hands!"

There was a deafening bang, and everything went black.

* * *

[1]- To make it a little bit easier for the readers (and myself), every state's human name starts with the same letter as their state name (i.e., Florida is Felix, California is Caitlyn, and so on). There is only one exception: Utah's name is Ryan (because I chose his names before I made this rule, and got kind of attached to it).

[2]- Spanish translations (Mostly done by yours truly):

"Papa? You're home?"

"Have you grown since I've last seen you?"

"You saw me last week!"

"What? It's been that long?"

"You're so silly, Papa!"

"Silly? I'll show you silly!"

"Pedro, I was trying to talk to Dad."

"You were? Sorry."

"You smell nice."

[3]- Another headcanon. English, in my opinion, is the one language most of the nations of the world can speak, so that everyone can, well, understand each other. Before the 1500s, the _lingua franca_ was Latin, but as hardly anyone outside of their community spoke that and as French became more popular, the nations changed it to French in the mid-1600s, before changing it again to English after World War I. America's trying to get Puerto Rico to speak English more fluently, so that he can talk to other non-Spanish speaking nations when he gets older and starts to enter international affairs.

[4]- Georgia

[5]- Part of the process in becoming part of NATO, according to their website. Aspiring NATO countries must send letters of intent to the leaders, along with deadlines to reform their countries so that they are eligible. The next step for Venezuela is to convince the members that her country is stable enough to be of use to them.

[6]- A traditional Ethiopian dish, Wat is a thick stew that is usually served on top of Injera, a large sourdough flatbread.

[7]- D'mt is Ethiopia's mother, and was an old empire located in Eritrea and Northern Ethiopia, from the 10th to 5th centuries BC. She had four children, from oldest to youngest: Abyssinia/Ezana, Ethiopia/Merille, Somalia/Rihana, and Eritrea/Lebina.

World News (February 22, 2022 to January 13 2024):

1) Ethiopia's quarantine zones are slowly stabilizing

2) Libya continues to be controlled by Italy in an attempt to maintain the spread of the

plague

3) New Order Venezuela buys several islands in the Caribbean

4) The use of euros in West Ukraine and Turkey becomes more popular

5) Switzerland's chocolate is being distributed to more and more nations

6) Greece's expedition was successful, and their debt crisis is continuing to slowly resolve

7) The people of Japan want real estate to be cheaper. However, the price ended up raising instead

8) Italy's program is slowly failing

9) The Discovery Channel is not happy about America's Spider Tech

10) Tensions between India and Nepal have sharply increased


	7. Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
New Abyssinia—Ezana Tesfa  
Nepal—Amisha Yadav  
Bhutan—Sonam Dorji

**Addis Ababa, Ethiopia**

**March 15, 2023**

The door to Ezana’s office opened slowly. The nation in question looked up from the reports he’d been overseeing, raising an eyebrow as a young teenager entered the room. He had curly brown hair that was just in the process of being grown out, and showed the beginnings of a handsome ruggedness that would come to dominate his adult years.

Ezana sighed despite himself, standing slowly. His body ached from the coup he had staged to take over the country, so he was sure to be gentle with himself. The boy looked up at him again, eyes flickering back down as the nation moved to meet him.

“Ras  Täfäri,” the boy murmured, bowing slightly. Ezana shook his head, letting out a long breath.

“I told you not to call me that,” he said, arms crossing as he spoke. “Ras Täfäri is a rural name, given because your peers cannot truly understand who I am. When we are in the capital, I am either Ezana Tesfa or New Abyssinia, remember?”

“Yes, New Abyssinia.” The boy raised his eyes slightly to meet Ezana’s. When the nation shot him a hard look, they flickered back down again.

“You are satisfied currently, correct?” Ezana asked, pulling out a chair. “Here, sit. I see you’ve grown in the last year since we’ve seen each other, Alemayehu.”

Alemayehu nodded, tersely taking his seat. “Yes, school is nice. I have a few friends.”

Ezana hummed, taking his own chair behind his desk and pushing aside his papers. The reports could be finished later. He leaned back, taking in his protégé. He did look healthy and well-fed, but his stature was still rather small, and his hunched posture, almost begging the casual observer to not investigate him, was rather worrying. He’d have to take care of that. After all, he couldn’t afford to allow his  _ Temelikachi _ to grow and become cowardly. Where had that bold, blunt child he had met in North Gondar gone? Perhaps it was time to try another boarding school? He’d hate to separate the boy from whatever friends he may have made—social interaction was vital for mental development at his age—but if it meant he didn’t grow to become a pushover and finally rid him of that rural dialect of his…

Ezana cut off that train of thought. That was a matter for another time.

“I can assume why you’re here?” He asked, placing a hand under his chin. Alemayehu nodded quickly. “You have  _ seen _ again.”

“Yes.”

“What is it this time? Shall I murder Somalia in cold blood and dump her on the side of the road so that we can plant more seeds? Take over the entirety of Africa? How many more must I kill?” Despite the firmness of his voice, it was tinged with a deep sadness, if not regret.

“You didn’t…  _ kill _ Ethiopia,” Alemayehu murmured, shifting uncomfortably. “Either way, I only tell you what I  _ see _ . You can choose whether to follow it or not. I’m sorry if I displease you, but I can’t help what I  _ see _ .”

Ezana let out a long, deep breath, knowing in his heart that the child was right. Doing what was right required sacrifices, and if that meant stealing his brother’s country for himself (though if he were honest with himself, that part he actually, deep down, liked) and removing him from the picture, then so be it. If it required sacrificing an entire generation of promising young men to war and experiments, then so be it.

“Excuse me,” he waved a hand, closing his eyes briefly. “I haven’t slept well recently. What did you  _ see _ , young one?”

“Do you remember my cousin?” he asked softly. “Layla Bekele?” Ezana nodded.

“The one studying biomedicine? She insisted on studying abroad for whatever reason. I told you, she’s safe in Germany and receiving the best education possible. All paid for by me, may I remind you.”

“When she’s done studying, you will bring her back here. She’ll be assigned to a lab studying the…” he struggled to remember the word for a moment, failed, and then continued. “Mutated virus. I forget its name. There she will facilitate a way to end the war in just the way we need it to.”

That was… rather simple, for once. Ezana nodded. “Alright. I’ll file it away. Try to remember the name of the virus. When you do, come back to me. You know the rules.”

“Yes, Ras—Ezana.” Alemayehu reddened at the slip-up, stood, and was out of the room in a flash.

Ezana sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. Yes, he would have to change things in how he raised his  _ Temelikachi _ . He was extraordinarily lucky to be the host of one, and even more so to have found him so young. He, his country, and the world as a whole could not afford to let Alemayehu’s upbringing go awry. It was bad enough he was born in such a backwards village...

Ezana shook himself. Africa needed to look to the future, one independent from foreign intervention, to survive and prosper. His  _ Temelikachi’s _ sight only proved that long-held belief of his.

_ Oh, Merille. It’s a pity you had to go. You may have bowed to the white men one too many times, but I would never voluntarily put you in your current situation without absolutely having to. One day, you’ll understand my motivations. _

_ As long as everything goes according to plan. _

* * *

**Manhattan, New York, USA**

**January 13, 2024**

“So, what exactly is this meeting supposed to be about, again?” Italy yawned, twirling a pencil in between his fingers. “I’m bored!”

“ _ Italien _ , the meeting’s barely started!” Germany snapped, looking irritated. “Please, don’t complain today. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep for weeks. I’m  _ not _ in the mood.”

America frowned as her eavesdropped on the conversation. It was a meeting of the higher UN today (basically all the really relevant/powerful countries), which he had called to convene a week earlier. Around the table, Eurasia/Russia (He kept on telling himself that Ivan was Eurasia now, but he had a feeling a part of him would always call him otherwise), England, Germany, India, North and South Italy, and France all sat together, for once not fighting. Germany  _ did  _ look tired, America conceded, judging from the dark bags under the Aryan nation’s eyes.

“What’s wrong, Doitsu?” North Italy questioned, looking concerned. Germany shook his head.

“Nothing, just a recent election gone awry,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. America nodded in sympathy, knowing all too well what a bad election season felt like. “What’s going on, anyways?  _ Italien  _ does have a point there.”

All eyes turned to America, and he nodded, having expected this, and typed into a keypad at the edge of the table. The wood at the center parted and lowered inside, revealing a digital map of the world, divided into it latitude and longitude lines. He pressed a couple more buttons, and it zoomed in on the country of New Abyssinia and its neighbors, Eritrea and Djibouti.

“New Abyssinia, America?” France questioned. “Why him? I know that they’ve recently gone through a revolution and representative change, but things have been quite quiet in the horn of Africa for almost a year now.”

“And that’s exactly my point,” America replied. “It’s been quiet.  _ Too _ quiet, if my intel from PXT 2020[1] is to be trusted. I’ve sent some spies into the area—hey! My satellite systems were showing some suspicious stuff!”

“Alfred, you can’t just invade everyone you’re suspicious of,” England sighed, rubbing his face with one hand.

“ _ Idiota _ ,” Romano muttered. America rolled his eyes.

“Anyways, while I was there, I discovered some pretty strange stuff,” he continued, frowning. “Strange enough that I wanted to bring it up with all of you.”

“Well, at least we know this system works,” India sighed, sitting up slightly from his position near the foot of the table. “What’s New Abyssinia doing now?”

“Nothing good,” America said. He typed on his keypad once again, pulling up a digital documented report and expanding it so everyone could read the words on it. There was silence for a couple minutes as they read, before Italy cut through the quiet with a gasp.

“He’s mutating the virus?” He questioned, eyes widening. “Why would they do that?”

“Seconded,” Romano agreed with his younger brother, crossing his arms and scowling. “We have enough trouble with Libya and the virus as it is. We don’t need mutations coming and screwing up the little progress we’ve made. It certainly doesn’t help that this bastard—” he gestured to Russia. “Isn’t sharing his vaccine.”

“Well, I’m saying we should invade them now!” America announced, pounding one fist with his hand. “Hit them with a preemptive strike and make sure they don’t wipe out the human race with some sort of bioweapon or something!”

“Good luck doing that without a vaccine,” Russia cut in, uncharacteristically serious. “Unlike what Romano is claiming, I’m not keeping the vaccine out of spite. I do believe I’ve told you this already. Someone stole not some, but all of the vaccine before I could mass-produce it, and I’m still working on trying to retrieve what I’ve lost.”

“I don’t know,” England cut in. “It seems that New Abyssinia is becoming quite the threat. Shouldn’t you help us like you did with ISIS?”

“New Abyssinia isn’t trying to kill everyone, da? I am much more worried about these bandits. I am going to give them a piece of their own medicine. I have recently found new evidence on who stole it, and I’m keen to enact revenge...”

“For the last time, Eurasia, Ukraine didn’t have anything to do with the theft,” Germany protested. “We’ve defended her this long, and we will continue to!”

“You all worry too much, da?” Russia replied coolly. “I’ve recently retracted my claims against my sister. New evidence has come to light that the bandits fled into Iran.”

“Not the Middle East again!” Italy cried, panicking. “It’s too hot! Why can they just not cause trouble for once!?[2]”

“I don’t think so,” Alfred replied, knowing the idea was very unlikely. “Ever since the United Middle East Coalition formed[3], they’ve been pretty quiet, and no issues like this have been brought up to any of us in the past couple months or so. Perhaps this thief serves New Abyssinia.”

“Eurasia’s research on the vaccine could aid in any mutations they hope to trigger,” France conceded, putting a hand up to his chin in thought. Germany nodded in agreement. “As well as inform him how far along we are in studying it.”

“If it was them, my threat still stands.” Russia had taken on a terrifying expression, causing Veneziano to cling to Romano in fright. America just deadpanned his old rival. He’d survived and won the Cold War! This was nothing.

On the other hand, though…

_ I need to get my hands on the vaccine or create one of my own before Russia does. Then I can cure this disease and stop this whole mess before any sanctions or worse come out of it. _

“Italy, would you mind if I borrowed some land in Libya? Near Benghazi or Al Bayda?” He asked abruptly. Romano raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to explain. “It’s to be my new base against New Abyssinia. We’re moving in, but slowly and steadily. We don’t want another situation like North Korea on our hands.”

“Help us out with our antiviral program and you got yourself a deal,” Romano replied, trying to shake off Veneziano’s tight grip on his arm. “Libya’s been hounding me about it for months. Let go of me, Fratello!” He shoved his younger brother into his seat.

“Awesome! It’s a deal, then. A win-win for both of us.” Alfred pumped his hand in the air, glad things worked out so well. Now, for the hard part.

New Abyssinia.

* * *

**August 8, 2024**

**Kathmandu Valley, Nepal**

“Really, Amisha, this has been a wonderful trip. It will most certainly stay in my memory for a long time.” Sonam smiled, tucking his hands inside of the long sleeves of his  _ gho _ . “I don’t usually put much emphasis on my birthday, nor do I often leave my country, so this is a welcome change in routine.”

Amisha Yadav smiled at her old friend, smoothing out the wrinkles in her traditional Sherpa tribe dress to hide her blush. It had been a long time since she and one of her only friends, Sonam Dorji, had gotten together, and she had been lonely without him. Sonam’s birthday had been a good excuse to have him over. They’d had a wonderful time, too, hiking and exploring her native Kathmandu valley. Though she’d lived here for hundreds of years and knew the land like the back of her hand, it was an amazing experience to walk it with a trusted friend at her side.

“Thank you, Sonam. I would dare to say that I’ve had more fun than you!”

The dark-haired young man laughed. Indeed, she’d frightened him more than once by climbing in the trees to astonishing heights and taking daredevil jumps every now and again. But it was all in good fun, and Sonam, thankfully, easily let it go.

It was nice to be able to relax, especially in the light of recent events. Amisha sighed, reaching one hand up the sleeve of her dress to finger the cold bandage that she’d put on her forearm several days ago. Yes, she needed this break from reality.

“Amisha, I’ve been asking this all day. Are you sure you’re alright?” Sonam questioned, looking concerned as he noticed the dark-haired woman’s movement. “You’ve been worried for this entire trip and have refused to talk about your own home life. Can’t you just talk to me about it?” He laughed. “It’s not like I can tell anyone about it!”

Amisha sighed, looking around at the wooded trail they were hiking in. She loved this valley and her people. Why did things have to be like this?

“My people discovered a new mineral several weeks ago,” she blurted out, finally cracking. “It’s extremely rare and we were hoping to sell it to raise our economy levels.”

“Well, that’s extremely good news!” Sonam exclaimed, smiling. Then he looked at her, a young man barely out of his teenage years, with a sudden frown. “Something happened, didn’t it? That’s why you asked me to come out here, even though it’s the middle of the week.”

Amisha sighed, pulling up the sleeve of her left arm and exposing the deep wound on it. Sonam stiffened, and she quickly pulled it back down again.

“This mineral…” she murmured. “Has explosive properties.  _ Extremely  _ explosive properties. It killed over 175 people when we accidentally set it off while trying to harvest it. Now my people are panicking, my government is going to extreme measures to contain the mineral and my people, and India and Tibet have been on my back about whatever I’ve been hiding from them—I’ve been able to keep most of the information from them, but it’s only a matter of time. I called you out here because I’m trying to postpone a meeting with India so my government can formulate a plan to try and negotiate a way out of this situation.”

“Amisha…” Sonam blinked, taken aback. “You should’ve told me earlier. I may be a small nation, but I could’ve helped a little bit.”

“You only represent Bhutan, my friend,” Amisha sighed. “And I Nepal. What difference in this situation could either you or I make? I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

“Still…” Sonam frowned and looked towards the ground. “We’re friends, Amisha. I at least want to try.”

“Thanks,” The brown-haired woman smiled. “I’m glad, Sonam, to have a friend like you.”

“As am I,” Bhutan smiled, and they began walking down the path once again. “And if this is the only way I can help, then I’ll gladly keep you in this valley for as long as possible.”

Some time passed in relative silence as the duo made their way back to the small village they had been staying in for the last few days. A couple words were passed, but mostly the two South Asian nations of Nepal and Bhutan were content to let the nature speak for itself as they walked.

After an hour or so, another person came into sight. Amisha frowned as the man came into view, trying to place where she had seen him before, as he was still a fairly long distance away. Then, three more men, with military uniforms and rifles, turned around the bend, and the Nepali woman froze. Sonam grabbed her uninjured forearm.

“You need to run,” he murmured. Amisha gulped and turned around to see two more men come up behind her. They were trapped.

“Nepal! You can’t run any longer!” India’s voice bellowed through the mountainside. As he and his military men came closer, Amisha felt something cold brush against her wrist. A blade. Sonam hadn’t let go of her arm, and had discreetly passed her a weapon. She wasn’t surprised—most nations carried something to defend themselves with, the only reason she didn’t was because she had forgotten her pistol in her room that morning—but was shocked that her friend was willing to give it to her. Not willing to risk her friend any more, she swiftly pulled her arm away. Neither looked at each other, not willing to give away what had just passed between them.

“Ever since tensions between us have heightened, you’ve been hiding something, Nepal,” India accused as soon as he came within their normal vocal range. He gestured to his men, who aimed their guns at the two nations. “I have no quarrel with you, Bhutan. I suggest you stay out of this.”

The Himalayan nation shared nothing, simply risking a furtive glance at Amisha. She quietly motioned for him to move. This was her problem, not his. She was a fool for bringing him into this. Her hand curled around the hidden dagger in her sleeve. She took a deep breath and put on a brave face. She may be a small and insignificant nation, but she wasn’t going down without a fight, damn it!

“You’re acting like Pakistan, India,” Amisha challenged, voice sounding much more confident than she felt. “Accusing everyone all the time. What are you trying to do? Become the next America?”

India scowled, he clenching his fists, and Amisha felt a twinge of satisfaction. Pakistan was always his father’s weak point; it was always too easy to get him angry about the younger nation.

“Don’t bring Pakistan into this,” the rising world power hissed. “I have five guns on you right now. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. What are you hiding Nepal? I’ll give you one more chance.”

“It’s nothing dangerous!” Amisha bluffed. “Leave me alone!”

“I would if it wasn’t for the police killing your people,” came the harsh reply. “And the mineral that can kill two hundred people in a single blow. My army is storming your country as we speak. Why do think no one stopped me from coming here?”

Amisha froze, her blood turning to ice. She focused on her people, and, true enough, she could feel a certain crumbling inside of her as they spoke. Her government was falling.

“Get her.”

The men rushed forwards and Sonam let out a cry, looking terrified at the prospect of battle. Amisha’s grip tightened around her knife, and she swiftly dodged the first man who came up to her, rushing off to the side. Whipping out her blade, she sliced blindly at the man before racing desperately down the path and past India. The old nation sighed and made a motion with his hand, and a crack echoed through the valley.

Amisha’s leg suddenly gave out below her, and she collapsed with a cry. Her hand reached towards her calf, and came back red. She glared through teary eyes at India, who looked back emotionlessly.

“You never had a chance, Nepal,” he sighed. “No one can help you. Bhutan is too weak. Tibet doesn’t want to get the minerals inside his borders. You have no one.”

“Ra tapā'īṁ kukura hunuhuncha[4],” Amisha hissed back, hair hanging over her eyes. India’s eye twitched. He couldn’t understand what she was saying, but there was no doubt between them that it was an insult.

“Only I can dispose of these minerals properly,” India announced. Two of the army men came forwards and hoisted her up roughly by the arms. This time, Amisha didn’t resist, instead opting to glare hatefully at her new oppressor.

“You think anyone will trust you after this, India?” Sonam challenged, looking frightened but strong. Amisha froze. “With actions like these we’re all going to be cautious around you. You better not hurt Amisha any more than you already have.”

_ Please, don’t get hurt because of me. _

“If you want to challenge me, then go ahead,” India shrugged. “But if you want to live, then I suggest you leave  _ my _ country within the next 24 hours. Goodbye.”

Amisha felt herself being dragged away, and she locked eyes with Sonam, giving him a goodbye that she felt was going to last for a long time….

* * *

[1]- Project X Terra 2020. I got tired of writing that out over and over again, so now its abbreviated.

[2]- No offense to the Middle East! Italy is just being overdramatic since the last major war he’d taken part in was there.

[3]- A presiding body over the Middle East and other major Arab countries (like Egypt and Algeria). It’s not that relevant to the plot, so you can imagine how it works.

[4]- “And you are a dog.” I don’t know/couldn’t find any good Nepali insults, so I just put this into Google translate

World News (February 29, 2023 to July 20, 2025):

1) Bandits steal the vaccine from the Eurasian Union. The Eurasian Union blames West Ukraine for the theft. NATO defends West Ukraine against the accusation.

2) New Abyssinia closes their borders without stating why

3) New Abyssinia is spending funds on the virus for confidential purposes

4) USA develops more spider tech

5) New Abyssinia deports foreign scientists

6) The UN condemns New Abyssinia’s actions

7) Communication with New Abyssinia has been shut down by the country

8) China’s sponge cities continue to increase. Their water crisis is slowly fading

9) Brunei ruins Dubai’s money reputation

10) Eurasian Union proposes to give independence to Central Asia in order to maintain balance in the world

11) An agreement is signed where if New Order Venezuela remains stable until 2030, they can join NATO

12) Greece proposes to rejoin the EU once his debt crisis is resolved

13) Ransomware shuts down the entire network of Siri Lanka

14) Anti-viruses manage to create a way to decrypt the ransomware keys

15) Nepal finds some interesting minerals. However, they are very dangerous, and they exploded, killing approximately 175 people. There has been no response from the government.

16) The proposed independence of the Central Asian nations did not pass

17) Tibet warns Nepal not to send refugees to his nation due to the mysterious mineral

18) Bhutan closes his border with India

19) Tibet and Bhutan sign a no-dangerous mineral policy

20) Pakistan warns India about reparations if any of the dangerous minerals harms him or his people

21) Bhutan and Tibet begin to construct a mountain highway to increase their trade. China opposes this idea

22) Ransomware attacks Chinese systems, slowing down operations

23) Thanks to an Italian-American co-op, a vaccine for the virus in Ethiopia has been develope


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:
> 
> America—Alfred Jones
> 
> New Mexico—Manuel Jones

**July 21, 2025**

**Seoul, South Korea**

“Woo-hoo! Celebration time!” South Korea was dancing like a madman, a wild grin on his face. Next to him, North Korea looked torn between being embarrassed, wanting to punch his younger brother in the face, and being excited for the occasion himself. America didn’t blame either of them for their actions.

It was finally time to unite North and South Korea. Japan and China were both here for the occasion, the former to protect his interests in the Yellow and Japanese Seas (apparently he owned the island of Jeju, which would be given to Korea once they were unified or something; America hadn’t really been paying that much attention), and the latter because North Korea was his territory. America? Why, because he was the hero, of course!

But in realistic terms, South Korea had asked him to come to make sure that China and Japan didn’t both gang up on him. America didn’t mind and actually completely understood; after all, he and his allies were the only reason Japan hadn’t annexed him already (well he had lost his friendship with Japan in the process  _ but come on he was the hero and you can’t please everybody _ ). The two Asians also looked slightly uncomfortable in the situation as well; both were certainly not happy with the situation, but Japan had been pressured into allowing this and China was facing an imminent North Korean rebellion. This was the easier option for both of them unless they wanted to face some very unpleasant days in the coming years.

However, the two Koreas had been very happy about the arrangement. Though both had their disagreements about politics and other formal business, they both loved video games and Korean dramas. To top it all off, they hadn’t seen each other in such an informal setting since the 1940s, almost a century ago. 

Things were just getting finalized, and now that the merger was actually going to happen, they needed to finalize a few things, such as government and trading agreements, as well as formal admission into the UN.

Come on, guys! It’s time to party!” South Korea laughed, pulling out a bottle of Soju[1] from who-knows-where. “Relax a bit!”

“Young Soo…” China groaned, facepalming. America laughed at the scene, but yanked the bottle out of his friend’s hands. The young adult pouted, and Alfred gave him a sympathetic look.

“As much as I hate to pass up on a good drink, England would have my head if he found out I was drinking during official affairs again. How about later?” He compromised, then brightened more. “Hey, I can invite Washington and Virginia[2] over, too! We can have this huge Korean-themed party! It’d be  _ awesome _ .”

“America, we’re here to discuss Korea’s unification, not the after-party,” Japan put in, folding his arms and sending him a low, almost annoyed look. “We can start by discussing the best way to instigate capitalism in North Korea. He’s been living under communism for over a century; it’ll be a tricky transition.”

“Excuse me?” China put in, looking offended. South Korea and America shared a look. “Last I checked, Korea was becoming communist. We should be talking about transitioning  _ South _ Korea.”

“And this is why I wanted you here,” said country muttered in English to his old friend, switching from the Korean they had been speaking for the meeting. America sighed, eyeing the bottle of Soju still in his hand.

“I think I might just take a shot of this,” he replied quietly, also in English. “Can't we go just one day without fighting?”

“Come now, this is Japan and Aniki,” South Korea responded with a chuckle, though his eyes betrayed a sense of disappointment. “They always find a reason to fight.”

America let out a puff of air. “You’re right about that. Japan’s the prime example of being passive-aggressive, and China always rises to his taunts. People like them just don’t mix well. It was only a matter of time.”

“Korea is to be capitalist!” Japan announced as they spoke, crossing his arms and planting his feet firmly in the ground. It was quite a change from his usual personality, actually, where he preferred to work more behind the scenes.

_ This is something he’s determined not to back down about,  _ America mused.  _ It reminds me of how we fought back in World War II.  _ His eyes flickered back to the alcoholic beverage in his hands.  _ This bottle is starting to get really tempting… _

“Japan, you don’t have much of a say in this,” China responded to his younger brother’s words. “North Korea is  _ my  _ territory. You’re lucky I’m willing to participate in this event at all.”

“South Korea is capitalist. You aren’t taking that away from him.”

“And North is communist. You aren’t taking that away from him, either.”

“Capitalist!”

“Communist!”

America groaned audibly and took off the cap of the soju bottle, taking a small swig from it. He savored the light, slightly sweet taste, not wanting to actually get drunk (yet), and set it down on the nearby table.

“Yeah, I’m a hypocrite,” He spoke to South Korea as the Asian nation made a move to protest, switching back to Korean. “Excuse me.” He turned to the two fighting brothers, who stopped as he stepped in between them. “I know you both, like, really want to have a say in this, but you really don’t. The Koreas do. So let them choose!”

There! China and Japan couldn’t object to that without sounding like oppressors to the Koreans! America felt a surge of warmth, though he didn’t know whether it was from the alcohol or the fact that he had trapped his rivals in a corner.

“Fine,” China spat out, crossing his arms. Japan shrugged.

“If you so wish,  アメリカ [3],” he replied easily. America ignored him and turned to the two Korean brothers, silently asking for their opinion.

“Capitalism!” South Korea cheered, raising his hands excitedly. He then silenced as he seemed to remember North’s presence, and turned to him expectantly. The younger of the two brothers seemed uncomfortable at all of the attention that was being put on him.

“Capitalism… sounds nice,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper as his face reddened. “I mean, after what happened last time…”

“Then it’s decided,” America nodded, feeling satisfied as he sent a triumphant look at China, who scowled. He grinned at South Korea, and they gave each other a high five. “Now, about entering the United Nations…”

* * *

**November 23, 2026**

**Benghazi, American Libya**

“This city really has come a long way from the days of ISIS,” Alfred remarked, sipping from his mug of coffee. “They’ve completely rebuilt since 2015.”

“I suppose so,” New Mexico replied, who was standing next to the window that showed the city beginning to wake up in the early morning. The young boy—just under twelve years of age—seemed to be swallowed up in the light brown wall. He had dark brown hair that curled inwards at its ends, and the same color of eyes. His skinned was also dark, and he wore a faded evergreen shirt and a dark red scarf. “I never saw it back then.”

“I only had a couple times, too,” Alfred shrugged, sipping again from his drink as he waited for it to cool. He was still waiting for the caffeine to kick in and give him the energy he needed for the day. “Bit too dangerous for an American like me to stay long or visit often. Still, you can see the difference.”

Manuel shrugged. Alfred sighed, giving up on trying to communicate with his son. New Mexico was quiet and tended to stay in the background. It was hard enough trying to  _ find _ the boy, much less try to get him to actually pay attention to what was going around him (unless it was aliens or science. Then he nerded out). He and his son looked completely different, too, with Manuel’s dark features contrasting sharply with Alfred’s much lighter ones.

But his fourth youngest son[4] was going to be needed here for a while. America hated that he was leaving young Manuel to fend for himself in this country halfway across the world, but he didn’t have much other choice. With Texas and Massachusetts busy on another project, New Mexico was the next best pick he could think of for studying the virus and any possible mutations it might produce. Despite his young physical age, the kid had already proved himself a genius in the Manhattan project[5] and in other governmental assignments. The problem with that was that Manuel was extremely shy and introverted. But he had to put someone he could trust on this project. So here he was, helping out his son for a couple weeks, acclimating him to the environment, and then he was set to return to New York in early December and leave his son with Libya.

Damn it, he had a bad feeling about this.

Alfred was wrenched out of his thoughts, however, when the front door of their house (they had been given an actual house instead of a hotel room, courtesy of the American government) opened suddenly. Manuel turned around, surprised but not frightened. Neither of them were. The security was too tight to let anyone unsavory enter without warning.

“Come in!” Alfred called, feeling too lazy to actually answer the door.

First in was Romano, looking completely exhausted. He had dark bags under his eyes and his clothes looked as if he had just shoved on the first item his hands had fallen on when he had woken up. Behind him was Libya, who was looking much better than he had been when America had last seen him back in 2018, in a semi-formal dress shirt and slacks.

“Yo, burger boy!” America’s eye twitched, but shrugged off Romano’s insult, more than used to the Italian to know that it was his way of a polite greeting. “We need to have a talk. Eritrea. New Abyssinia. Trouble.”

“Excuse me?” America blinked, then chuckled as he stood up to meet his unexpected guests. “Dude, you look even more tired than New York during the holidays! What’s happened?”

Romano short him a dark look, and the blond held up his hands in surrender.

“We need to talk about the war that took place two months ago,” Libya explained. “Eritrea was recently annexed by New Abyssinia, remember? Romano’s found something off about them and he wants to talk to you.”

“Alright,” America nodded. Noting Romano’s look, he motioned to New Mexico. “Hey Manuel, can you do me a favor and grab Romano a cup o’ jo?”

“Cup of coffee, Dad,” the pre-teen corrected, but moved to the kitchen nonetheless.

“Who’s the kid, America?” Romano asked, taking a seat at the dining room table. Alfred and Ahmed followed him.

“New Mexico, one of my sons,” America replied, taking a long drink out of his mug, noticing that it had cooled enough to not scald his tongue.

“He’s staying here with me to keep an eye on the virus,” Libya continued. “Haven't I told you about this already? Maybe I was talking to Veneziano.”

“If you were, than my fratello probably forgot about it,” Romano sighed. New Mexico returned to the room with a cup of coffee and handed it to him. The Italian nation took it gladly and downed a large gulp, despite the fact that it was scalding hot. “Anyways, you’ve heard about the war, right? Didn’t you say that you sent spies there?”

“They got found out recently and I had to get them home, but I had them there until the first couple battles, yes.” America’s voice hardened at the thought of New Abyssinia. How could it not?

“Then you most likely know what I mean when I say that this wasn’t any normal war.”

“Yep. Those men were much too agile and deadly to be human. They overran Eritrea with surprising ease, despite the fact that she had been preparing for years in the case of an occasion like this.”

“Well, this war happened much too soon!” Romano exclaimed, slamming a fist on the table. “I’m not ready for something like this!”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” America nodded, eyes flickering over to New Mexico as he took a seat. “They mutated the virus. In a way that actually affects other humans. It’s the only explanation.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Just… how could they?”

“He’s totalitarian,” Romano replied, drawing a hand over his face and rubbing it tiredly. “Why wouldn’t Ezana want a mutated virus that gives him super soldiers? I mean, wouldn't you want a couple thousand Captain Americas in your army?”

“We developed a vaccine, though,” New Mexico spoke up quietly as America muttered ‘They're more like Winter Soldiers’ under his breath. The state seemed unsettled by the other three’s despondent moods. “We developed a vaccine,” he repeated, as if doing so would reassure them further. "So we can handle it. Right?”

“Sorry,  _ ragazzo _ ,” Romano replied, downing another large gulp of his coffee like it was liquor. “You’re mistaken. I’ve been up for days researching this. Let me tell you both what I found, and why I had to come right away.”

America nodded seriously, placing a hand on his chin and leaning forwards. This wasn’t time for games.

“Through testing, I found that there is something dangerous about this virus,” Romano began. “More so than your standard disease. Most of those who are affected are paralyzed completely within 24 hours of infection, have a chance of brain damage or memory loss, and attain green eyes. However, some people aren’t affected, thanks to a very unique mutation in their DNA. When we found out, I took a sample and ran some tests. Then… I realized…” his eyes fell to his hands, now clenched on the table. “This virus is catastrophic. It’s like nothing my scientists have ever seen. And even worse… If not treated with the vaccine, it can evolve into something more.”

“But we have the vaccine. We should be safe. What’s the catch?” America questioned.

“You don’t understand, Alfred. You see, we don’t think the virus we’ve been dealing with isn’t the virus that gave New Abyssinia’s soldiers their superpowers,” Libya picked up. He looked the younger nation dead in the eye. “It was only a  _ lead _ into the actual problem!”

“Then what did New Abyssinia do?” America asked, a sick feeling rising in his stomach.

“The Eurasian Union’s stolen vaccine has to have something to do with this,” Romano replied, also raising his eyes. He looked unnaturally pale, and suddenly America understood why he looked the way he did. “Well, we think. It’s only a theory for now. I’ll need hard evidence to confirm it.”

“Russia’s vaccine?” America echoed, feeling utterly lost. “What’s going on?”

Suddenly, Libya’s phone rang, and they all jumped. The African’s eyes widened in surprise and he picked up the phone. A hurried male voice suddenly picked up, and he had no time to respond as the man on the other end instantly began talking, too quiet for the other three inhabitants of the room to make out any actual words.

“You’re not serious,” Libya finally spoke, voice airy with shock once the voice stopped. “Saudi, I got America and Italy in the room with me. What’s going on? Tell me. Slower, this time.”

The voice spoke again, but this time slower and somewhat more controlled. America and Romano shared a look. Saudi Arabia? What did he want to do with an Italian territory?

The voice stopped again, and Libya nodded to himself, pale and even shaking slightly.

“I got it. I’ll tell them. America for sure will be able to help you. We’ll see what we can do. I’ll call you back.” He waited for a reply and then hung up, looking at them seriously. “Thirty minutes ago, New Abyssinia declared war on Sudan, South Sudan, Kenya, and Djibouti. Basically all of his neighbors at once. Threats of war from the Arab League aren’t affecting them at all. Saudi Arabia was asking me to contact you guys for aid, since I’ll have a better position, being Italy’s territory and therefore part of NATO.”

The mood fell even further, if that was even possible. Italy and America shared a look, before the former sighed.

“It was only a matter of time,” he murmured, more to himself than to the other nations.. “But if the Eurasian Union’s vaccines were stolen for a reason, why does the virus still exist? If New Abyssinia just wanted the vaccine, he would’ve used it and wiped out the virus, at least in his own lands. And if the virus and Eurasia’s vaccine are connected, what is that connection?”

“We’re going to have to figure that out on the fly,” America responded, standing up as an idea began to take form in his head. “Libya, you said the whole Arab League’s been talking to New Abyssinia? Have they had any recent meetings?”

“Y-yes. Just a couple days ago, in fact,” Libya stammered. “Emergency ones in Yemen and Egypt.”

“Good,” America nodded. “We were having a NATO meeting in a week as well, so most of our members should be free. I’ll invite anyone else who can come.”

“Dad, what are you doing?” New Mexico asked, looking up.

“I’m going to have to leave you here a bit early, alright?” America forced a smile. “I know you’ll be able to hold the fort here on your own for a couple days. We’re calling an emergency World Meeting.”

* * *

[1]- A Korean alcoholic beverage

[2]- These states have the fifth and sixth highest Korean populations in the states. I chose them because the two with the most, California and New York, are diversity central and thus have dozens of native cultures competing for attention in them. The third and fourth, Massachusetts and Texas, are currently a bit… busy.

[3]- America in Japanese (Google Translate)

[4]- Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Northern Mariana Islands being below him. He’s the youngest accepted state.

[5]- The codename for the project that created the first nuclear bombs in World War 2. The testing took place in New Mexico.

World News (August 8, 2024 to January 2, 2027):

1) TotalCryptLocker ransomware has become the most dangerous computer virus of 2025

2) Antivirus products are now attempting to deal with the new ransomware

3) New Abyssinia’s operations have been affected by Ransomware

4) It’s been reported that the creator of Ransomware is programming underground in Africa

5) Unified Korea leans toward capitalism

6) New Abyssinia accuses Eritrea for developing the TotalCryptLocker virus

7) New Abyssinia declares war on Eritrea, quickly overrunning and annexing the country in suspiciously quick battles.

8) New Abyssinia has been threatened with war by the Arab League if they continue their conquest of Sudan, South Sudan, and Kenya

9) NATO sends sanctions to New Abyssinia for mutating the virus

10) Rebellions in New Abyssinia are quickly suppressed by troops with inhuman powers

11) New Abyssinia has ignored all threats and has attacked their neighboring nations

12) The Arab League sends one last warning to stop their offenses

13) The Arab League and United Middle East Coalition rush to Yemen and Egypt for emergency defense

14) Italy starts sending troops to defend Libya


	9. Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the first play-by-play war is beginning, there’s going to be a new part of the chapters, at the beginning of each segment where necessary. Posted here will be the cities and countries in solid control of both sides, those in danger of being overtaken, and those on the front lines. For big wars such as this one, the list may be long, so feel free to just glance over it.

**January 3, 2027**

**Rome, Italy**

New Abyssinia—Safe : Addis Ababa; Mogadishu; Asmara.  In Danger: None  Fallen: None

Front Lines: Nairobi and Nakuru, Kenya; Abri and Al Fashir, Sudan

Sudan, South Sudan, Kenya, Djibouti—Safe: Kisumu, Kenya.  In Danger: None.  Fallen: Djibouti; South Sudan; Khartoum, Sudan; Marsabit, Kenya.

World Meetings in and of themselves were rare. Only once every five years did the countries of the world dare to gather together to discuss problems and try to fix them. Usually nothing good came of them, save for that one time back in 2015 when they moved to rid the world of ISIS. Emergency World Meetings were even rarer. Though any of the big five (USA, China, France, UK, Eurasian Union) could call one at any time, it had actually only been enacted twice, once at the onset of World War 2, and once during the recession of 2008.

This made the fact that America had thought New Abyssinia a big enough threat to the world to call one was even more worrying.

Romano kept his arms crossed tightly across his chest as the doors to the meeting place in Rome opened and nations slowly began to file in, most confused and worried. At his side, Veneziano was unusually quiet, having been lectured by his brother multiple times to get the idea that pasta was  _ not _ needed to solve the problem through his head. America was also already here as well, preparing to speak at the head of the table. Romano had to admit (if only to the deepest parts of his mind), that he was impressed with how many had shown up. Everyone except Algeria in the Arab League had responded to the call, as well as around two-thirds of NATO. The Eurasian Union and several other non-Arab League and NATO countries had reserved a place in the meeting as well.

Even so, it had taken over a month to get everything together. In that time, Djibouti and South Sudan had fallen (though that wasn’t really a surprise), while Kenya and Sudan were barely holding on, despite a rushed UN task force being sent to help. Thousands had died.

What a merry Christmas that had made. Romano had spent his only day off that month desperately trying to catch up on his sleep.

He watched silently as Denmark and Norway entered the room, followed by Saudi Arabia and Egypt. This was going to be one heck of a meeting, he could tell. Would the accused nation here even show up? New Abyssinia had forgone attending any meetings after he had taken over the government from his brother. He probably wouldn’t come. Although the World Meeting invitation technically applied to all nations, no one had expected Ezana to take up the offer. He was practically the new version of North Korea.

“ _ Fratello _ ! The meeting’s starting!”

Veneziano’s voice snapped Romano out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see that indeed, the meeting was beginning. America stood up as everyone grabbed a seat in the crowded room (this was a NATO meeting building, not a World Meeting one, but they had managed to squeeze enough seats in).

“What’s up guys!” America shouted into his microphone, causing everyone present to wince and cover their ears, save for Finland and Norway[1]. “Thanks for comin’ on such short notice!”

“Have some restraint, America!” Germany shouted from his seat next to Iraq. “You’ve nearly deafened us all!”

“Oh, sorry,” he apologized, rubbing his head sheepishly. Romano shook his head. America may be twenty physically[2], but he still acted like a twelve-year-old at times. Well, a lot of the time. “Anyways, you all know why we’re here, right?”

“Mostly,” England responded. “But you didn’t go into details. What’s all this about New Abyssinia and superheroes?”

“Super soldiers,” America corrected. “Like from the Marvel Universe! Captain America! But  _ evil _ !”

“Oh, kill me now,” the island nation muttered, facepalming. “Why did I even come here in the first place?”

“Oi, America!” Romano spoke up, folding his arms and sending his ally a harsh look. At this rate, no one was going to take them seriously. “You tell the story right or I will!”

“Okay, okay,” the young country huffed. “Sheesh. Anyways…”

Romano didn’t pay much attention as America went into the details about New Abyssinia and the threat he posed to the world. He’d been studying the subject for months now. A small stab of fear shot through him as he thought of those super soldiers. Dammit! He still couldn’t help but be afraid of this war, despite the fact that he’d been investigating it for so long. At least the other nations seemed to be taken aback as well as America continued telling of what had happened.

America’s voice drew him back into the conversation again.

“We believe that the cause of this cause of super soldier serum’ may have been stem from Eurasian Union’s vaccine, the one that was stolen around five years ago,” he finished.

“You are accusing me of this?” Russia spoke up. There was a suddenly coldness in the air around him, causing Egypt and Belgium, on either side of him, to try and scoot away. He turned to the two Italies, and Feliciano squeaked and hid under the table. Romano managed to keep his ground, though his eyes flickered uncertainly and he winced almost violently. “You should provide proof to support your claim instead of having America shout your accusations, Италия[3]. Unless you want to face the consequences.”

“We’re not accusing you of anything, Russia!” America cut in, saving Romano from having to respond. “It’s far more interesting to study this virus, Vipeaira, instead.”

Eurasia deadpanned his old rival, which America returned with the same intensity. The rest of the countries in the room began to shift uneasily, brought back to the days of the Cold War.

“Look, you two,” Germany stood up and held his hands in a placating manner. “We don’t need  _ another _ problem.” He turned to Romano and Veneziano, who had just peeked from under the table again. “You’ve been researching this virus, Vipeaira or whatever they’re calling it now. How much longer will it take to find a way to cure and reverse its effects?”

“With New Mexico’s help and at my current rate? Two years, at the least,” Romano responded. “And even that’s pushing it pretty hard.”

“I don’t know if we have that much time,” Germany warned. “Any way you can speed it up?”

“I don’t even have any living specimens to study! This is as short as I can make it! It’s not like Veneziano can hack them either; their firewalls are much too strong.”

“North Italy can hack?” Nigeria spoke up from his place near the back.

“It’s just another form of art, so it isn’t that hard,” Romano’s brother laughed awkwardly. “I don’t do it a lot because  _ fratello  _ gets upset whenever I set Ransomware on him after an argument.”

“I can try and help you with that endeavor,” the African nation volunteered. “Maybe we can get some Ransomware attacks of our own into New Abyssinia’s computers. Try and buy you some time.”

“I’ll help as well,” Estonia offered, raising a hand.

“That won’t buy us two years,” America mused. “Not with Sudan and Kenya on the verge of collapse. New Abyssinia isn’t going to stop with them.”

“That’s where we come in,” Saudi Arabia spoke up, a large, dark man in a white keffiyeh. “New Abyssinia has overstepped his boundaries for the last time. First with the annexation of Somalia, and now that of Djibouti and Sudan. On behalf of my allies, the Arab League declares war on the State of New Abyssinia!”

“Seconded!” Egypt added, followed by assent from the rest of the Arab League members in the room, hardly anyone hesitating the decision in a practiced confirmation.

Romano and America shared a knowing look. They had expected the Arab League to help them in such a manner, but they still wouldn’t stand a chance against the superhuman armies of New Abyssinia, being composed of mostly third-world nations. The choice was made between them in moments, and America huffed.

“Back to war again, I suppose,” he announced. “Italy and I give our full support to the Arab League, and declare war on New Abyssinia. Will the North Atlantic Treaty Organization follow us? New Abyssinia has been abusing biotechnology in warfare, and that is cause to interfere.”

“I guess we help,” Germany agreed. “These soldiers have inhuman powers.”

“Seconded,” England added, nodding his head.

“I may be able to assist you guys against the regime as well,” Venezuela put in her own two cents, shooting a look at America. Romano nodded to himself. She had been aspiring to join NATO for some time now; this would speed up the process. Her oil deposits would also be of great use to the war effort.

“Then it is decided?” America stated. He turned to Russia. “Eurasia, will you help us?”

“Nyet. You can handle this on your own, da?”

“Fine, suit yourself. Anyone else?”

The room was silent, and the young superpower took that as assent.

“Alright then. Anyone who is involved in the war, stay behind so we can work out some battle plans. The rest of you may leave.”

* * *

**January 29, 2027**

**Murzuq, Libya**

New Abyssinia and Territories—Safe: Addis Ababa; Mogadishu; Asmara; Khartoum; Juba; Nairobi.  In Danger: None  Fallen : None

Front Lines: Taif, Saudi Arabia; Nizwa, Oman; Asyut, Egypt; Murzuq, Libya.

Allied—Safe: New York, USA; London, England; Berlin, Germany; Rome, Italy; Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.  In Danger: Sabha, Libya; Suez and Cairo, Egypt; Mecca and Jeddah, Saudi Arabia; Muscat, Oman.  Fallen: Kenya; Sudan; South Sudan; Djibouti; Yemen; Aswan, Egypt.

Three weeks. Just a little bit more than three weeks and they were already losing.

Germany sighed, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the desert sun. Just on the horizon, one could see tendrils of smoke rising in the air from the battles taking place only a dozen or so miles away.

They were going to have to evacuate the city soon. Indeed, most of the civilians had already left for northern Libya. He wished more than anything he could be out on the front lines right now, like he had been in the World Wars and in the war against ISIS. It was a bad habit of his, going out onto the front lines when he could be helping strategically with his military’s high command. But he couldn’t just sit around while his men died against the enemy. At least it was a problem most nations seemed to struggle with.

“Things are starting to get dicey out there. I say a half an hour before we have to leave.”

“All our items are packed,” Germany responded, turning to face Morocco. The young woman had her usually long, curly brown hair tucked into a neat bun, and wore a tan camouflage uniform to match with the desert landscape, the same kind that Germany himself was wearing. “We should get going.” But he didn’t move.

Morocco sighed and they lapsed into silence again. The nations in the war against New Abyssinia had been scattered in pairs along the front lines in Libya, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and Oman. It was pure bad luck that Germany and Morocco had gotten paired together. Neither had actually met before, which made things more than a little bit awkward between the two.

“Should we call a full-scale retreat?” The African woman asked after a minute or two. “Try and regroup in Sabha?”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Germany nodded, finally finding it in himself to move away from the balcony they were standing on and inside. The coolness of the air-conditioned home (one that had been repurposed for the war after the original well-off family had left) soothed his near sunburned skin. Morocco followed him as he pulled up one of his viewing computers in the main room (that was a new invention of America’s, a large tablet that one used to type, which emitted a two-dimensional holographic projection of the screen). He pulled out the tablet and clicked open a map of Sabha, Murzuq, and the surrounding areas, allowing it to expand to two feet long and high in the air.

“Sabha is almost 143 kilometers away[4],” Morocco announced. “It's going to take us a little while to get there.”

“But it’s the best we have,” Germany sighed, looking over the map to see if he could find a better route. “You have any other ideas? You’re a Saharan nation.”

“Bring a lot of water,” came the response. “You’d be surprised how often you Europeans forget how precious it is out here.”

“Got it,” Germany replied, about to close the map when he received a notification on the tablet. “What?”

“It seems you’re getting a video call,” Morocco remarked, lips twitching upwards. “I wonder who?”

She was being ironic and they both knew it. In the past month, Italy had made sure to call him at least twice a day, babbling on about how hard he, Nigeria, and Estonia were working on, then worrying for as long as possible about him and Romano. It usually ended up with Germany being forced to hang up on him so he’d get back to work. It was both endearing and extremely annoying.

He sighed, but clicked on the blinking phone icon and watched as Italy’s happy face filled the screen, waving spastically.

“Ciao, Doitsu!” The Italian greeted. Germany sighed.

“Hallo, Italien…” he muttered. “Look, I am extremely busy right now. Can you call me back tomorrow?”

“No!” Came the cheerful reply. “Doitsu, we finally did it! We hacked into New Abyssinia’s computers!”

Both Morocco and Germany jumped, then shared a skeptical look at each other before turning back to Italy, silently asking for an explanation. Then Germany noticed at Italy’s eyes had slight bags under them, and he seemed exhausted, his usual cheer carried an abnormal undercurrent to it.. That wasn’t like Feliciano at all; he usually took a nap under even the slightest of nudges.

“Partially, Italy. Don’t raise their hopes.” Another figure came into view, and this time both countries winced at his look.

If Italy looked tired, the Estonia looked like he was about to collapse. Dark bags, sallow skin, everything pointed to him having not slept for a couple days at least.

“We got some ransomware into Abyssinia,” the Baltic continued. “So hopefully we hit their government computers and not just some civilians’. How’s the African campaign going?”

“Horribly,” both Morocco and Germany replied at the same time. The German continued. “We’re about to evacuate Murzuq. That’ll be the third retreat this week.”

“What do you know. The same thing’s happening in Egypt and Saudi Arabia,” Estonia responded. “And Oman fell and was occupied a couple days ago. Hey, why don’t you just burn everything once you leave? Then they couldn’t get any of your supplies.”

“Burn it?” Morocco protested. “People live here! We can’t just burn down everything they own!”

“Well, it worked for Russia. I’m just saying.”

“Hey, don’t fight, you guys!” Italy cut in. “We need to work together!”

“Estonia has a point, Morocco,” Germany mused. “This city  _ is  _ one of the only oases around. If we destroy that and any shelter, there is a chance we could maybe slow them down. Give Romano a little more time.”

Morocco scowled, but Germany could see that they had sold her on the idea.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.”

“We’ll help them rebuild,” Germany compromised, deciding to ignore how much that would cost if they decided to continue on this trend.

“Sir!” The door opened, and a German general entered. “It’s time to leave! New Abyssinian forces are closing in as we speak!”

“We have to go,” Germany carried on the message to Estonia and Italy. “Keep up the good work. Hopefully we’ll be able to meet face-to-face soon enough.”

“Bye-bye!”

“Who knows,” Estonia chuckled. “Maybe we actually stand a chance now.”

* * *

[1]- Rock bands. They’re used to loud noises.

[2]- He’s aged since 2015. Only one year, but still.

[3]- Italy in Russian (At least, I hope. That’s Google Translate for ya).

[4]- Around 89 miles

World News (January 3, 2027 to January 30, 2027):

1) The Arab League declares war on New Abyssinia

2) NATO declares war on New Abyssinia for using a dangerous virus as a weapon

3) New Order Venezuela prepares to side with NATO against New Abyssinia

4) The Eurasian Union refuses to participate in the war to remove attention from their vaccines

5) Inhuman soldiers suppress the people of Yemen

6) Saudi Arabia’s royal air force bombs the enemy troops in Yemen

7) Sand is unable to handle the inhuman soldiers, which is causing a lot of sinkholes to appear

8) Canada plans to withdraw from the war

9) Italy infected some of New Abyssinia’s computers with ransomware. This time, the ransomware asks for virus data, not money


	10. Chapter 10

**January 30, 2027; 6:00**

**Diego Garcia, British Indian Territory**

"We don't have a chance. Even if we sent in all of our militaries at once, we'd most likely be crushed."

Romano's words were harsh, cutting through the atmosphere of the meeting like a hot knife through butter. America shook his head just slightly as he watched his Navy SEALs and Romano's GIS's look among each other, trying to figure out just what their commander was talking about. They had been dragged out to a tiny island just over two thousand miles off of the coast of Africa for this mission, so it couldn't be to just tell them to give up, right?

Personally, America knew what they were going to ask them to do was suicide. But it was crucial that they get the point across about how dangerous this mission was going to be. The pressure was needed.

Indeed, as things currently were, the Allies (that was, everyone fighting against New Abyssinia) really held no chance against against the rogue state. Abyssinia's soldiers never seemed to grow tired and sometimes never even seemed to feel pain, marching forwards into battle even when hit with multiple bullets. They were like living zombies (the thought made him shiver), and the Allied forces were simply only human. Despite getting some ransomware hits in cyberspace, Italy, Estonia, and Nigeria, along with their teams, were making little other progress in the digital world, which meant that Romano didn't have the time he needed for he and his scientists to figure out the virus and find a counterattack.

However, one of the little breakthroughs the three had made had been the discovery of an influential lab deep in the jungles of Abyssinia, one that harbored information about the virus. Biometrics had prevented them from discovering much else about it, but PXT 2020's satellite imagery had provided the rest.

Romano's voice dragged him back to the present.

"At sunset, we are going to commit a raid on New Abyssinian ground," Romano continued. America smirked to himself as a shocked ripple emerged from the group, echoing across them in such a minute way that he could hardly sense it in the first place. This certainly wasn't something they had been expecting. America had been surprised, too, when he'd first heard the plan, even more so when he realized that it had been Romano who had come up with it. When push came to shove, the scrawny Italian was braver than most gave him credit for.

"Deep in the Ethiopian jungle, we've discovered a base holding data about the Vipeaira Virus," Romano continued. "To do this, you must be wondering how you will be able to defeat a soldier with superhuman abilities with such a small team. The answer is that you can't. But you are the best troops our countries have to offer, and so you'll have to do. You can only accomplish this mission if you listen to my instructions extremely carefully."

He turned with a flourish and uncapped a whiteboard pen to sketch out their plans (America had protested using electronics to hash out this mission, since if in the case that they themselves were hacked, the mission wouldn't be compromised). He exhibited a cool sort confidence that America hadn't seen since WWII, and even then it had been in short bursts.

Despite the way he acted, or perhaps even how he thought of himself, Romano could be quite the leader when he was forced to be. Everyone always said that North Italy looked and acted the most like his grandfather, but in moments like these he truly had to wonder which brother had gotten more of the Roman Empire's genes.

"From our current location," Romano drew a circle, representing Diego Garcia, and an arrow towards a line that represented the Somalian coast. "We'll be sending a submarine towards the shoreline. Commander Jones and I will lead you towards the base's location, according to the data my brother hacked and using satellite imagery as a guide." He drew two rectangles side by side, to represent the base. He then marked a circle between them. "From what we can see, it's only guarded by one super soldier around three in the morning—most of their resources have been sent to the front lines. And that is where the American's new Spider Technology will come into play."

America felt a surge of pride at the thought of his new tech. Texas and Massachusetts had been working nonstop on this new invention for almost five years now, and were anxious to try it out in combat. Tex had actually thrown a temper tantrum when he had found out that he wasn't allowed to come on its first field test. But America wasn't insane. There was no way he was putting his son in so much danger. He'd already done that by letting New Mexico stay in Benghazi to study the virus alongside Romano.

"Once we take out the guards with the yawny webs—" Now America had to hold back a snicker. Should he tell his friend that he'd named the web attacks that as a joke? "The Spider Tech will cut a specific hole in the facility that houses the virus, grab the samples needed, make sure none of the personnel inside hears us, and get out of there. This is how our mission will play out. We sneak like spiders."

"Like ninjas!" Alfred put in. Romano not-so-discreetly stomped on his foot and he let out a hiss of pain. Sheesh! No one these days could take a joke… "If you are caught, try to escape into the forest," he added, after taking a moment to shoot a dark look at the Italian. "But chances of surviving alone out there aren't very high. Close to zero, actually. But we won't have a choice if things go south, and surrender won't be an option."

"I suggest you all return to your barracks and get suited up," Romano finished. "We leave in an hour."

* * *

**January 31, 2027; 2:45**

**New Abyssinian Wilderness**

Despite the fact that it was the middle of winter and the dead of night, the Abyssinian climate was still very warm. It came from being close to equator—there was little seasonal change in the area. America was glad for that. It was only 47 degrees Fahrenheit[1] out, which was only a little chilly and prevented the weather from being an obstacle to the mission. Next to him walked Romano, nearly unrecognizable in his camouflage getup, bulletproof vest, and kevlar mask that covered his lower face.

They were stalking through the dense jungle with around twenty of the finest men that they had deemed ready for the mission. Ten were serving as snipers, set to keep a lookout around the compound, while the other ten were set to guard Romano and America as they infiltrated the lab. Everyone was connected by a radio headset. A look to either side revealed the men walking alongside him, barely visible in the darkness. No one made a sound, save the occasional snapping of a twig, and even that was few and far in between.

They'd been travelling with a single-minded focus all day—first in an inconspicuous truck they had hijacked and then on foot when there were no more roads to follow. They'd had their last break just an hour earlier, stopping for just fifteen minutes to eat dinner, and then they continued on. Estonia had provided them with enough tech to get past the coastline, the electric fence of the base, and the first two waves of guards completely unnoticed, and now they were entering the most dangerous part of the mission.

That was why America was on guard. Things never went this smoothly in a mission.

"Ten-zero, ten-twenty-three."

It had been one of their soldier's ideas to use the outdated police code that had been retired back in 2018[2]. And it was a good one, too. If their conversations were being bugged, the listener would be expecting complex military codes, not that of the American Police Force. Romano had been the one who had just spoken, commanding their men to be on guard and to stand by. America squinted ahead of them, trying to see what his ally had, and spotted several dim lights in the distance. Bingo.

"Ten-four." Came the response from the sniper captain ("Message received"), and there was a slight rustling and a whoosh as their ten snipers pulled out grappling hooks and pulled themselves into the branches of the trees. The rest of the team waited patiently as the base was scouted out. Several minutes passed, and America's hands twitched, aching to get into action.

"Ten-twenty-six," came the reply. All clear. America let out a small breath of relief, but it didn't last for long; his heart rate increased as he caught sight of the walls of the base.

"Ten-forty-nine," America announced, stepping forwards and leading the charge up behind the complex. "Between the two buildings." Proceed to the two buildings.

Above them, the snipers moved easily in the treetops, the interconnected branches of the jungle canopy providing easy access to the special forces. On the ground, America and Romano lead the way to the treeline, their men following just as silently. The gaps in between the tree trunks grew wider and wider until they stopped abruptly at a fenceline. As Italy had informed them, the base was split into two main structures, both two stories tall. In the gap in between them, he could just make out a large, muscular man in night-vision goggles marching with his back to them, on guard.

Oh, New Abyssinia, you've just made your fatal mistake. You've gotten cocky.

The snipers stood on guard as the rest of the soldiers moved out. First, two of the SEALs cut a hole in the chain-link fence, lining it with rubber to prevent the electric charge of the metal into the open air. As the super-soldier guard turned out of sight, on the other side of the building, they ducked onto the grounds. Six grappled onto the rooftops and began taking out security cameras and other alarm systems silently and systematically. America, Romano, and the other four troops rushed in between the two buildings. The ground changed quite suddenly from dirt and plants to concrete, and they changed their footsteps accordingly.

America peeked around the corner, catching sight of the back of the Abyssinian super soldier before turning again and nodding. The soldier closest to him quietly took off his heavy backpack and unzipped it, and the man next to him did the same. It took them only moments to put together the new piece of technology, and America felt a flush of pride for his states' hard work on this project.

The tech looked the most similar to its namesake, a spider. It was three feet long and boasted a leg span of five, with a flat back and no head, and had cost millions of dollars to make (thank you loyal taxpayers of America). It powered on once put together, and Alfred turned on his own half-computer, half-backpack, connecting it with the Spider Tech and pulling out what looked to be a navy blue toy pistol from its holster on his hip, loaded with only two shots.

He pressed a button on the pistol, and the mechanical spider skittered away and up the wall facing the New Abyssinian soldier. Then there was a tugging in his chest from the magnetization on his backpack, and America felt himself being pulled up onto the wall. Hitting the flat back of the spider and losing a little bit of the air in his lungs—he was going to have to fix that later—he didn't give the Abyssinian soldier a chance to react to the sound before he fired at him. A large, extremely sticky and strong blue webbing expanded out and wrapped over the man, pinning him to the ground, and fired an electrical shock strong enough to kill four full-grown men. The man stopped moving.

America let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure whether or not that'd be a high enough voltage to knock him out.

"Ten-forty-five-A," he announced, letting the rest of his comrades know of the success and asking them to stand by. "Ten-twenty-three."

America then tucked the blue pistol back into its holster and detached himself from the spider, turning off the magnet in his backpack and the ones in his hands on. He then turned around and placed his palms on the spider's back, walking vertically with the tech as a guide to the spot Nigeria had outlined in the plans for the virus' containment. Please be right…

Using its front legs, the metallic spider cut a perfect circle in the wall, and took out the piece of metal with its lower ones. Using a cable, it lowered the slab of metal to the ground to avoid making a clamor, and the four soldiers and Romano grabbed it to keep from making any more noise than possible.

"Eleven-fifty-one interior?" Romano asked once they had finished. Do you need help getting inside?

America climbed over the spider and peered inside. There was an eerie silver glow from one spot, and on the other side, several thick metallic freezers made for holding bio samples. There was no one in sight.

"Negative," he replied. He tucked in his legs and squeezed through the hole the spider had made—its diameter was only two feet and a tight fit for a large man in full op gear like him—and let himself fall to the ground.

"Eleven-ten," The Italian's voice rang through the com again, asking for a report from the rest of the team.

"Ten-four, ten-twenty-six," came the reply from the sniper's captain. All clear up here.

America took a wide, sweeping look around the room and stood up slowly from his crouched position, deciding to go for the freezers first—they'd hold the biggest chance of holding samples of Vipeaira.

"Ten-four, ten-fifty-nine." Checking security. That was from the teams on the rooftops.

He made his way to the freezer and looked over it, then cursed mentally and scowled. It was a biometric lock, and one only hackers of the highest caliber, like Nigeria or Estonia, could break in any reasonable amount of time. He frowned deeper, and opened up the electric lock, looking over the unintelligible words on the screen, most likely written in Amharic. He'd have to do it the old fashioned way: blow the lock up and hope the personnel and soldiers still inside the compound and unaware of their presence don't hear him. They'd have to get out of here fast once he got a sample.

He unstrapped his backpack, moving past the part that was magnetized with the Spider Tech and pulling out an emergency bomb. Hopefully the muffler equipped on it would work alright. It hadn't been tested enough for him to be comfortable.

There was a shattering of glass behind America, and he froze immediately, realizing that, somehow, he was not alone in the room. His hand moved slowly towards his pistol (the regular one), and once his hand curled around it, he whipped around and pointed it at the person who had seen him.

It was a young woman, looking to be in her early twenties. Her black hair was pulled back in a military-like bun, and she wore a lab coat, signifying her job as a scientist, most likely one of the ones who had mutated the virus in the first place. On the ground was a broken test tube, most likely dropped in shock. After all, who expected a US Navy SEAL to crash into your lab room in the middle of the night?

America hesitated, his finger twitching on the trigger. He needed to shoot this girl, make sure no one knew of his presence, but he hesitated. His gun had a silencer, so noise wasn't the problem, but…

This girl was innocent. He hated this part of his job.

His finger curled around the trigger of the gun, and he prepared himself to shoot the girl.

"Layla!" A foreign voice suddenly sounded, male and most likely old, and the door to the lab room burst open, revealing a grizzled old man, also in a lab coat. America nearly dropped the gun in surprise, noting the man hadn't seen him thanks to his angry gaze being set on the woman. Yet. "Mini iyadereki newi[3]?!"

America froze, eyes flickering to the hole in the wall, and slowly bent down and pressed a button on his backpack. The spider discreetly covered the opening with its own body, blending it in with the rest of the wall. He then moved backwards slowly and silently, obscuring himself in shadows and in the best position he could find for when a shootout took place.

The girl's eyes flickered on him for only the briefest of moments before she turned to the older man, most likely her boss or elder coworker.

"Yik'irita. Ijochē tenik'et'ek'et'u. Yik'irita ādirigilinyi, Inidegena āyihonimi!" The words slipped past her lips quickly, proving that she was still frightened. America wished he could understand what they were saying, and was readying himself once again to shoot, when he realized that the man hadn't turned around to face him. America dropped the gun to his side in surprise, noting the man hadn't seen him. Yet. What was this girl saying?

His hands shook so violently he almost dropped the gun. He couldn't shoot now. Some part of him knew, just knew, that this girl was defending him.

"Alfred? Eleven-ten!" He realized quite abruptly that Romano was talking to him on the com. Report! He turned off his headset.

"Ya minimi negeri minimi āyit'ek'imimi." The man's eyes moved down to the shards of glass at the girl's feet. He seemed angry.

"Bech'irashi. Ahuni it'ebi neberi. Samunawi yemīyanisherateti āderegewi," the girl responded. "Inē āts'idawalehu."

"Irisiwo yishalu," the man commanded, giving a sharp scowl.. "Ye'inya mebirati wede wisit'i ina wede wich'ī iyegeba newi, silezīhi lememerimeri ānidi budini melaki newi. Le'āmets'enyochi hulu tet'enik'ek'u."

"Awoni gētayī." The man nodded at the girl, and she saluted. He exited the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, both of them were frozen, staring at each other. Shock emanated from both sides, mixed with fear and a sort of sudden comradeship on the girl's side for having aided him. Then the moment was over, and the girl rushed towards him and pulled him upwards and to his feet.

"Who are you?" America breathed. The girl blinked, then shook her head.

"Ich spreche kein Englisch. Kannst du Deutsch sprechen?" The sudden switch of languages startled him, and it took him a moment to understand that she was speaking German. How exactly, he shoved to the back of his mind.

"Ja, ich kann," he finally replied.

"Gut. Du bist bei den Amerikanern und den Italienern, oder? Ich habe so viel über den Krieg gehört." She turned to the freezer and turned on the lock, typing rapidly into it. The freezer opened with a hiss, and she grabbed America's sleeve, practically dragging him inside what seemed like an ice-cold walk-in closet, lined with shelves. She turned to him and grinned shakily. "Was brauchst du?"

If there had been one thing America had been expecting, it wasn't this. "Was? Wer bist du? Warum tust du das?"

"Nicht alle von uns Äthiopiern unterstützen das neue Regime." Ethiopians. She had called herself an Ethiopian, not an Abyssinian. That comforted him. The girl's smile fell into a frown as she watched him carefully. "Sehen Sie, mein Captain ist gerade dabei, zehn Soldaten auszusenden, um den Sicherheitsschaden zu untersuchen. Sie müssen mir jetzt sagen, was Sie brauchen."

Ten super soldiers? America's breath caught in his throat. His team wasn't going to stand a chance if they didn't leave right now.

"Ihre besten Proben des Virus. Der mutierte," he replied. Finally, his fear and shock began shifting into excitement as his adrenaline began kicking in. The girl nodded and pulled out a rack full of green-looking test tubes.

"Treffen Sie Ihre Wahl."

"Danke." He turned around and grabbed a small container from his backpack, specially designed to hold the virus and keep it cold for a period of time. He picked out three test tubes at random and placed them carefully inside his pack, putting it back on again.

"Du musst gehen," the girl commanded, shutting the door behind them as they exited the freezer. Her hands were shaking, he noticed. She was taking a huge risk for him.

"Wie lautet dein Name?" The words left his lips before he could stop them. "Ich bin Alfred Jones."

The girl smiled for a fraction of a second, then frowned again. "Layla Bekele. Jetzt geh!" She shooed him almost frantically.

America nodded. "Danke," he repeated simply, pressing a button and uncovering his entry point again. The young nation then turned around and climbed out, magnetizing his hands again and using the Spider gear to slide to the ground.

"Alfred!" The words were whispered, but he heard them. America turned to see Romano, about to blow a fuse, glaring at him. With a start of embarrassment, he hurriedly recalled his powered-down headset and turned it back on.

"Eleven-sixty," He reported. There is going to be an attack here. He could feel everyone freeze. "We need to get out of here. Now." Not even bothering to code the last sentence, he raced off into the forest, the rest of his men on his heels.

And though he was running far away from the compound, part of Alfred's mind was staying back in that lab room, trying to figure out just why this Layla Bekele had saved his and his men's lives.

* * *

[1]- Around eight degrees Celsius

[2]- Actually, I couldn't find any actual military codes (and I doubt I could if I tried) so I just stole the ones that the police use.

[3]- First, the words in actual Amharic writing (I put the translation in Latin script so the reader can better picture what the characters are saying) according to Google Translate:

"ምን እያደረክ ነው?!"

"ይቅርታ. እጆቼ ተንቀጠቀጡ. ይቅርታ አድርግልኝ, እንደገና አይሆንም!"

"ያ ምንም ነገር ምንም አይጠቅምም."

"በጭራሽ. አሁን እጠብ ነበር. ሳሙናው የሚያንሸራተት አደረገው. እኔ አጽዳዋለሁ"

"እርስዎ ይሻሉ. የእኛ መብራት ወደ ውስጥ እና ወደ ውጪ እየገባ ነው, ስለዚህ ለመመርመር አንድ ቡድን መላክ ነው. ለአመጸኞች ሁሉ ተጠንቀቁ."

"አዎን ጌታዪ."

And in English:

"Layla! What are you doing?!"

"I'm sorry. My hands slipped. Forgive me, it won't happen again!"

"That better not have been holding anything important."

"Of course not. I had just washed it. The soap made it slippery. I'll clean it up."

"You better. Our electricity is going in and out, so we're sending a team outside to investigate. Be on guard for any rebels."

"Yes sir."

[4]- German translations (Also Google translate, excepting 'thank you'):

"I don't speak English. Can you speak German?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good. You're with the Americans and the Italians, aren't you? I've heard so much about the war. What do you need?"

"What? Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"Not all of us Ethiopians support the new regime. Look, my captain is about to send out ten soldiers to inspect the damage to security. You need to tell me what you need right now."

"Your best samples of the virus. The mutated one."

"Take your pick."

"Thank you."

"You need to leave."

"What is your name? I'm Alfred Jones."

"Layla Bekele. Now go!"


	11. Comradeship

**January 30, 2027; 23:30**

**New Abyssinian Wilderness**

“They’re gone, sir.”

New Abyssinia nodded, watching the red blobs of the American and Italian soldiers race off into the jungle. He shifted in his seat a bit, taking his feet off of the table, as  _ Metoaleqa _ [1] Selassie commanded one of his soldiers to go and fetch the guard who’d been knocked out by the incoming force. One of the researchers, the one who was piloting the long-distance drone that had been tracking the Allied forces while they were in Abyssinian borders through infrared, glanced over to him, subtly asking if she should continue. Abyssinia nodded, then turned to fully face  _ Metoaleqa _ Selassie.

“We speak nothing of what happened here today,” he announced firmly. “ _ Weyzerit _ [2] Bekele is not to be punished for her actions; she was never in the testing room. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”  _ Metoaleqa _ Selassie saluted sharply, though Abyssinia could feel the confusion brewing inside the officer and the researcher. It was almost unnerving. Abyssinia was so used to people not questioning him, either because they knew who he was or were subject to the mutations that had become so common in his country. Here, though, he was only a high-ranking  _ Balambaras _ [3] from the capital. Influential and powerful? Very. But perhaps not feared.

Not yet.

"Bring in my assistant," he told the  _ Metoaleqa _ . "And make sure we are alone."

"Sir, yes, sir!" The man marched out of the room, the researcher following and leaving him alone with the computers. New Abyssinia idly watched as blob-America and his team crossed the outer boundaries of the base for a minute or so until the door opened. 

“You were right as always, Alemayehu,” Ezana commented, turning to see the boy walk inside. He was 17 now, quickly approaching manhood, and wore an officer’s uniform. He bowed slightly at the elder nation. “I really didn’t think that America would take the bait.”

“I’m glad I was able to be of assistance,” Alemayehu murmured, eyes flickering to the infrared sensor. “Did Layla really help them?”

“Yes,” Abyssinia said. “Good for her, too. She made the right choice with the information she was given. I think I like her.”

“Will she be punished?”

“No. She’ll probably leave and join the rebels at some point, and I’m sure my dear younger siblings will find some use for her there. For now, I’ll just keep her from causing any more harm.”

Alemayehu let out a breath, shoulders relaxing slightly. Ezana shook his head; he was too attached to his cousin for his own good. Honestly, Ezana really just ought to have the girl executed.

But he saw something in her. He wasn’t really sure why, but he saw Lebina in her compassion, Rihana in her ingenuity, and Merille in her willingness to do what she thought was right. And perhaps because of that, he had gotten a little too attached to her as well, without ever meeting her face-to-face.

The fact startled him. Damn. He  _ was _ too attached to her. Ezana made a mental note to run her out of the country in a year or two, before he started second-guessing his actions. He did  _ not _ need to be reminded of his familial connections right now.

“And so Phase III begins,” he announced heavily, sitting up with a grunt. “Have you  _ seen _ anything?”

“Nothing that I have not already informed you of.”

“Then we continue on as planned. We’ll aim for the oilfields in Dammam next, and try to put some pressure on Saudi Arabia. Once they’re distracted, a surprise attack on Benghazi will allow us to take the city and the American researchers stationed there. If you  _ see _ anything that objects to this, inform me immediately.”

“Yes, New Abyssinia.”

“Ezana, Alemayehu. We know each other too well for such formalities.”

“You are my country, sir. It’s my duty to be formal.” But there was a teasing spark in his eyes that let Abyssinia smile. “We must put humanity on the right path before our destinies are set in stone,” he said, reciting the saying that had become so familiar to his lips. “The dice will start to roll.”

“And we’ll just have to hope they fall in our favor,” Abyssinia finished the saying with a sigh.

He hated leaving things to chance. 

* * *

**February 10, 2027**

**Rome, Italy**

“Alright. Let’s get to analyzing these samples. What has your team found so far?”

Lovino blinked as Alfred's words carried across the room, then realized that they were directed on him. He shook his head as if to try and clear away the fog surrounding it, and nodded. Ever since the mission into New Abyssinia, he’d gotten perhaps twelve hours of sleep over the last two weeks, and was running purely on an unholy mixture of coffee, Red Bull, and adrenaline. Their research had progressed in leaps and bounds since the mission, but Lovino knew he was nearing his limits.

Then again, Alfred looked only slightly better off than he was. He’d been on the phone with his states for days (usually at odd hours in the night, too. Thank you, time zones), continuing to upgrade the Spider Gear.

“Lovino?”

“I’m doing it!” Lovino snapped, shaking himself again and willing himself to focus. He’d been sitting a microscope, looking over a sample of the mutated Vipeaira (deceased and unable to replicate, of course), and pushed his wheelie chair across the room and towards the computers on the other side. Feliciano was already there, in the midst of a complex coding spree and about to nod off, while a video feed on another computer hosted that New Mexico kid, who had opted to stay in Benghazi and study the live patients in the city.

Alfred folded his arms and leaned tiredly against the wall, yawning. Lovino resisted the will to do the same, and booted up and unlocked his computer to debrief his ally. Feliciano stopped what he was doing—some kind of complex coding was running across his screen—to watch.

“This will take more time than you’re giving us so far, Burger Boy,” he scowled as he pulled up his and his scientists’ research. “We’ve shortened the time it’d take to understand the virus, sure, but we’re still working on it.”

“We’ve made some progress, though,” New Mexico spoke up. “At least, I have on my end. I assume you’ve been getting my emails, Romano.”

“You mean the ones badgering me every two hours?” He muttered discreetly under his breath before raising his voice. “ _ Yes _ , I’ve gotten them.”

“What do you have so far?” Feliciano asked innocently, slightly more aware with the start of their conversation. Lovino resisted the urge to glare at him. “Is it pasta?”

_ He hasn’t done anything, you’re sleep-deprived. He hasn’t done anything, you’re sleep-deprived. _ He repeated this mantra in his head several times to try and reign in his irrational anger.

“Let’s start with Mex first,” Alfred put in, thankfully saving him from needing to immediately respond. “Any progress on the original virus?”

“We made a breakthrough during the time you were out in Diego Garcia,” New Mexico replied. What was his human name again? Lovino couldn’t remember and he didn’t put in the effort to care. “We’ve uncovered more information. Dirty water and expired vaccines are suspected to be the cause of Vipeaira. Unlike most viruses, however, their are... sensory side effects, like kind of like a drug. It’s like being high. Dopamine gets released in the brain, decision making is heavily affected, and so on. You get addicted to it, you don’t want treatment, and by the time the physical symptoms start manifesting you fight anyone who tries to touch you. And in some field observations, just a few in villages near the front lines, if left untouched for a long period of time, it can evolve into this new mutated virus, the one that causes the super soldiers. We’re calling it the Vira Estheman Virus, or VEV.”

Lovino nodded to himself, remembering what he’d been told in the state’s emails. He had to admit, the kid was good at what he did and with the resources he had. Scary good.

“That makes sense. Mostly,” he replied. The two (three, if you counted New Mexico turning on the screen) men turned to him. “What we’ve discovered runs mostly parallel with that. Eurasia’s vaccine, you see—” he pushed away from the computer and back towards his desk and microscope. Bending down, he opened the mini freezer under his desk to pull out a test tube. He pushed himself back to his computer and tossed it to Alfred, who caught it with a slight fumble. “Was made  _ way _ too quickly.” He chuckled airily. “Always knew the communist bastard was good for nothing.”

“What about the mutated virus? VEV or whatever. What do you have on that?”

“Then buckle in,” Lovino waved a hand at him. “This part is a bit complicated. Certain people, you see, with a very unique strain of DNA, can withstand the major effects of the Vipeaira Virus. However, that isn’t anything new. We’ve seen people withstand diseases in this way before, like with the Black Death. The real trick is in Eurasia’s vaccine.”

Alfred eyed the clear bottle of liquid, holding it up to the light. “But you just said that his vaccine was made far too quickly. What use does it have?”

“Everything. When combined in the right conditions with the original Vipeaira virus, it mimics the unique strain of DNA, prompting the virus to mutate into VEV. It first happened naturally with those who had the unique DNA, but then New Abyssinia heard about it.”

Everyone froze. Even Feliciano, who had only been barely grasping at the basics of the conversation, seemed to understand what he had just implied.

“At first, the mutation only occurred in those who haven’t yet started showing symptoms of the original Vipeaira. In cases like that, the virus is just sitting around in the bloodstream, just waiting for its chance to attack and replicate. As you probably know firsthand by now, the side effects of this mutation are super strength and speed; the same stunts you’ll see being pulled by Abyssinia’s super soldiers.”

“So it wasn’t Ukraine or Iran who stole Eurasia’s vaccine,” Alfred realized.  _ Peh. Took you long enough. _ “Our suspicions were right. It was New Abyssinia.”

“Mm-hm,” Lovino hummed. “Don’t know how yet—get your government on that, by the way—but New Abyssinia figured out that he could bypass the side effects of the Vipeaira virus and get straight to VEV by injecting Eurasia’s vaccine  _ first _ , before you even touch Vipearia, because even if you didn’t have the unique strain of DNA, the vaccine and virus will combine and mutate into VEV before Vipeaira does any damage. The affected patients, if what our observations report is true, can become mindless and addicted to the virus. For those affected with Vipeaira, the proper vaccine exists, but for VEV…”

“We have nothing…” Alfred caught on, horror seeping onto his features. “New Abyssinia knows he could take over the world with these soldiers. That’s why he’s been acting so confidently.”

“And New Abyssinia will continue to inject more and more men with Eurasia’s vaccine, and then with Vipeaira,” New Mexico spoke up, sounding frightened. “A foolproof way to build an invincible, completely loyal army. How are we going to beat them? The Arab League and NATO are at their limits just trying to slow him down.”

“That’s the problem right now,” Lovino sighed. “But if we can figure out how to separate VEV from the bloodstream and remove it, then we will hold a chance at winning this war.”

Alfred sighed. “I’ll get NATO’s best on it. We don’t have much time…”

“Also…” Everyone’s attention returned to Lovino, who ignored them to study the research documents on his computer. “There’s a missing piece here. I think New Abyssinia took some parts of the virus out of these samples, or maybe there’s a third disease we don’t know about. There’s nothing here to even hint at how well the soldiers obey a higher command.”

“We’ll have to think of something,” Alfred replied.

“Don’t worry!” Feliciano tried to cheer them up. “We’ll have to win eventually!”

“I hope so, fratello,” Lovino sighed. “I hope so.”

* * *

A/N: Beware of filler… I had no idea of how to otherwise paint the Allies’ situation. I’m sorry.

**March 16, 2029, 14:00**

**London, England**

New Abyssinia—Safe: Addis Ababa; Mogadishu; Asmara  In Danger: None  Fallen: None

Front Lines: Cairo, Egypt; Mecca and Medina, Saudi Arabia; Tripoli, Italian Libya; Rabat, Morocco

Allied—Safe: New York, USA; London, England; Berlin, Germany; Rome, Italy; Riyadh, Saudi Arabia  In Danger: Benghazi, American Libya; Alexandria, Egypt; Tunis, Tunisia; Algiers, Algeria; Dammam, Saudi Arabia  Fallen: Kenya; Sudan; South Sudan; Djibouti; Oman; Yemen; Marrakesh, Morocco; Tobruk, American Libya; Beni Suef, Egypt

“Well, we’ve been at a stalemate against New Abyssinia for over two years now. We need to think of a better way to fix that,” Germany spoke, addressing the ‘Allied’ Powers. Gathered around the table were the countries not yet taken over by New Abyssinia. Morocco, Algeria, and Egypt had all made it to his crucial war meeting, but were covered in bandages from having more than two thirds of their countries overrun. Saudi Arabia, sitting nearby, was also injured.

Then, of course, there were the Allied Powers. NATO had made sure that the majority of the nations were present, including America, England, France, and the Italy brothers. Despite the meeting having only started fifteen minutes ago, Veneziano was already fast asleep. No one moved to wake him, though. He’d been pushed far beyond his limits to try and hack into New Abyssinia, so they let it slide this one time. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Estonia’s eyes hadn’t left his laptop since he’d sat down, and every so often Nigeria, sitting next to him, would lean over and mutter something, in which Estonia would either nod in agreement or shake his head to. Venezuela sat couple seats down from America, looking slightly uncomfortable, being the only Latina in the room.

“We’re holding them off, but in the long run, we’re going to lose,” England sighed from his spot to Germany’s right. “My mini barrier project has been helping us, but it won’t last forever before New Abyssinia figures out a way around it.”

Germany nodded, remembering Arthur’s life-saving invention he’d brought to the war effort a little less than a year ago. It was a small, energy-powered shield, and had enabled their soldiers to withstand the blows from the New Abyssinian soldiers, and with Eurasia joining the war effort just a short time later, the New Abyssinian advance had slowed to a crawl in the deserts of the Sahara.

“Our people can’t hold much longer, either,” Algeria spoke up. “Your humanitarian aid had been helping, but the bombing raids are starting to really affect us.”

“Alright,” Germany sighed. “Let’s hear everyone’s reports. Saudi Arabia, you can start.”

“Thank you,” the Arabian nation nodded, and stood up. “I’ve lost most of my access to the Red Sea. Eurasia, your troops have allowed me to keep control of Mecca and Medina, and for that I’m grateful, but we’re not going to be able to keep a hold of them for long. Already New Abyssinian troops have camped outside of Medina. Losing either city will be a great loss of morale, and is something I refuse to let happen as long as I have a single unbroken bone in my body.”

“I’ve lost everything,” Egypt sighed, hissing in pain as he spoke. “Except for the Nile Delta and the Suez Canal. Again, I won’t be able to keep in control of it for much longer unless I receive more support. My people are on the edge of revolt, and only the threat of New Abyssinia keeps them from doing so.”

“Libya is nearly lost,” Romano spoke up. “America and I are evacuating Benghazi as we speak, and expect to lose Tripoli within the next 72 hours.”

Germany scowled to himself. Tripoli had been a crucial port city during the war effort. Losing it would be a major blow. They had already lost some of their oil reservoirs in southeast Saudi Arabia and Libya, and more near Dammam were under siege. More resources for Abyssinia, less for them.

“And we’ve been experiencing bombing runs over Naples,” the Italian continued. “But the planes get closer to Rome every day, despite our own airforce fighting some of them off. Veneziano and I are considering having to evacuate the Vatican; New Abyssinia will hold nothing back for the sake of religion.”

“I have…” Greece yawned in the middle of his sentence. “Also been experiencing bombing runs over Athens.”

“As have I,” Spain spoke up. “In Murcia.”

“And I in Lisbon,” Portugal added. “My guess is that he is bombing our important cities, just to remind us of how close he is to us. To remind us he’s there and waiting.”

Germany ran a hand through his hair, feeling himself begin to sweat worriedly. This war had done nothing to ease his stress levels, especially after the failed Libyan campaign.

“America, Britain, Venezuela,” he announced. “Let’s take a leaf out of New Abyssinia’s book and put your pilots in the sky. Begin bombing runs over mainland Ethiopia. We need to show New Abyssinia we aren’t giving up. Try and target Mogadishu and Asmara, and move more inland when possible.”

“If you say so,” Venezuela spoke up. “But with the pilots and defense soldiers on the other side having such a high reaction time, I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to do. My airforce may be good, but it’s still less than a decade old.”

“They are only human, after all,” England added. “But America and I have experience on our side. We’ll do our best.”

“Yeah we will! The hero will come to save the day!” America cheered, fistpumping. That earned some disgruntled murmurs from the crowd, but it was nowhere near the level it would have been in a usual World Meeting. Germany was honestly just awed that America could still find the energy for such frivolous actions..

“Eurasia, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Syria, and Jordan, try to coordinate an offensive past Medina. Make sure the city doesn’t fall into enemy hands,” Germany turned to the Middle Eastern nations.

“I will make New Abyssinia cry for his mother, da?” Russia chuckled wickedly, and Poland and Latvia, sitting next to him, scooted away.

Germany nodded.

“Now, onto the specifics. Egypt, we need to keep control of the Nile Delta. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

* * *

[1]- An Ethiopian rank of command in the army, roughly equal to the rank of lieutenant. Often they are the leader of a platoon.

[2]- Title for an unmarried woman, equivalent to ‘miss’

[3]- Commanders of the guards, artillery or cavalry of a traditional Ethiopian armed force, a man entrusted with important military commands.

World News (January 31, 2027 to March 16, 2029):

1) UK’s new mini barrier shield technology is able to withstand the inhuman punches of New Abyssinian troops

2) Eurasian Union joins the war as they consider New Abyssinia a threat to the Russian Federation

3) New Abyssinia has nearly conquered Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt, Morocco, and Mauritania.

4) Italian Libya is falling

5) The antiviral program is abolished in Libya

6) Italy moves its base of operations to American Libya

7) The entire world starts discussing whether or not to intervene


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the wait. We have a short chapter today. Let me know what you think!**

Names:

Libya—Ahmed Masli

New Mexico—Manuel Jones

* * *

**March 16, 2029, 22:00**

**Benghazi, American Libya**

New Mexico frowned, eyeing his equipment. Here he had his secure laptop, several microscopes, and hard copies of his research spread out over his bed, ready to be packed. On his desk laid several markers and pencils, along with a tablet and several more binders of research. With them on a test tube rack were several sterilized samples of the Vipeaira virus, along with one of the VEV.

_What to take, what to take…_ He had one backpack. He couldn't fit all of this in.

A loud, shattering '_boom!'_ vibrated outside, causing the windows to rattle in response. Hitting himself lightly on the cheeks, Manuel forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Finally, he grabbed his laptop and stuffed it in, along with two pencils, a marker, and three binders of research, deciding to leave the tablet, samples of the virus, and the rest of binders behind.

"Manuel!" Ahmed's voice carried over the noise outside. "Hurry! Stop dawdling and let's get going!"

"Coming!" Manuel cried, slinging the backpack over his shoulders. He staggered under the weight of it for a moment before regaining his balance and rushing out of the bedroom he'd been living in for a little over two and a half years and into the hallway.

It had all been so sudden. Manuel was still trying to digest what had happened in the last ten minutes. It was nearly ten o'clock at night, or twenty-two hours in military time. Libya, the man he'd been living with and someone he had grown to consider a close friend had shaken him awake almost violently and told him to pack whatever he could in their backpack, and that they were leaving. He still didn't know what was going on, but the blasting rockets and gunfire outside was enough incentive for him to listen without question.

He entered the main room, where Ahmed was finishing shoving some canned food and bottled water into his own pack. He glanced up at the young boy.

"You're still in your nightclothes?" He asked. Manuel looked down and realized that in his rush, he hadn't bothered to change out of his dark red and white pajamas. He shrugged helplessly and Ahmed sighed, standing up. Manuel realized with a start that he had started loading a rifle. "Never mind that. We need to go. Now. Grab your shoes; you can survive without socks."

"What's going on?" Manuel asked, now frightened completely, struggling to pull on his sneakers with shaking hands. "I thought we were leaving next week!"

"New Abyssinia has made a push towards the city," Libya explained as he finished loading his gun. "His navy has landed in the harbor, and we are completely unprepared for an attack from that front."

"But New Abyssinia's navy doesn't have a port on the Mediterranean to dock at!" Manuel cried. "How could he have gotten here?!"

"Sure he does." Libya stood up and New Mexico followed him as he went for the front door. "We just didn't know he could capture it so quickly."

"Tripoli," Manuel breathed in realization. The North African nodded. "I felt my capitol fall three days earlier than expected four hours ago, but I never expected an attack to be launched here so quickly. Now, we need to leave."

Manuel gulped and nodded. They exited the house, and Libya locked the door behind him. In the starry night sky above them, there was a flash and screeching cry of metal on metal. The young nation looked up to see a plane, flaming tendrils sparking into the sky as it descended to the ground. It descended scarcely a hundred yards over his head and crashed some ways away, a deafening boom shaking the ground. A fireball exploded into the night sky a moment later, bathing them in a dull, yellow-orange glow. Libya winced and cursed to himself.

"Come on!" He grabbed Manuel's hand and dragged him into the street. All around him there were people, most still in their nightwear, stepping out to see what was going on. Most were panicking and there was the sound of cars starting up. Some were Africans, but many in this area were Americans, some of whom were New Mexico's own citizens.

_They're innocent,_ the thought slowly crept through his mind, past the haze of shock that covered his mind. _They were just here to cure the virus and save lives. Why are they getting targeted?_

Libya continued to drag them down the length of the street, ignoring the screeching of planes as they fought in the air, and the rush of bombs that were steadily creeping closer and closer. There was no time to grab a car—the streets were much too crowded to drive successfully anyway—so they ran. And ran. And ran.

A half an hour must have passed before Libya even showed signs of slowing down, and even then it was most likely because of Manuel and the fact that he was tripping over his feet trying to keep up. He'd only gotten two hours of sleep so far and was exhausted. The heavy pack he was carrying wasn't helping matters, either.

They exited the neighborhood and left the streets and panicked people behind, moving into the open country. Concrete and asphalt turned into rock and dirt, and New Mexico had to watch his step to avoid falling. Libya had yet to let go of his wrist, which was beginning to ache under the nation's tight grip, so by the time a half hour passed, he was practically being dragged along. The desert night air was cool and crisp, but with the smoke beginning to clog it, he couldn't breathe well, either.

"Manuel," Libya spoke, breaking a tense silence. "Manuel, I need you to listen to me, alright?"

New Mexico couldn't speak, so he forced himself to nod. Ahmed slowed down even further, looking at him with concern. The American state noticed quite abruptly that there were hot tears streaking down his cheeks. He hurried to wipe them away before they could be seen any longer. Finally, the North African stopped completely between two small rises in the ground, around as high as Manuel's chest, and knelt down.

"Manuel, Manuel," he let go of the boy's wrist and massaged it gently. "Have I ever lied to you? Has your father ever lied to you?"

"N-n-no," it came out as a sob. Manuel wiped even more at his eyes, trying desperately to stop crying. "D-dad did, o-once. Ap-april F-fool's."

There was a distant crash in the background. Another set of bombs had been dropped. Libya looked over his shoulder in the direction of Benghazi. Manuel moved to copy him, but then two large hands cupped his cheeks and gently forced to him to keep looking away.

"Well, not over anything serious, right?" Ahmed laughed, but it was forced. He coughed suddenly, hacking flecks of red into his elbow. He quickly waved off New Mexico's worried hands as he tried to help. "Don't worry about that. Side effect of the invasion. Answer my question."

"No…"

"Remember when your father left me with you, back in 2025? And how he made me promise never to let you get hurt?"

"Y-yes."

"You have to believe me, alright? I will never, _ever_ let these men come and catch you. I will _never_ let them hurt you. Manuel, you are such an amazing child, and it's truly been an honor to work with you. You are smart, correct?"

"Not-not _street_ smart. I-I-I can't do this."

"Yes you _can_, child. Now listen to me. You're going to Al Bayda, alright? Do remember the city?"

Manuel nodded. He had never been there, but it was another city nearby, in American Libya. However, it was used for military operations, contrasting Benghazi's scientific purpose.

"Now this city is a long ways away, around one hundred miles. I brought food and water, but I'm not sure how much, so you'll have to ration. Nod for me so that I know you understand."

He nodded.

"Al Bayda," he turned them to face away from Benghazi as another carpet of bombs dropped behind them. "Is in this direction. See that star? Over there." He pointed to a particularly bright star in the east.

"Y-yeah. T-that's Vega, right?"

"Good. You know the night sky?"

"A bit. Arizona taught me a little[1]."

"Good. You follow that star, alright? Follow that star and you'll be going in the general direction of Al Bayda. You need to keep moving. Don't stop whenever possible. Travel at night and keep out of sight." Ahmed took off his own backpack, and Manuel felt horror rise in him.

"No, no Ahmed! You can't leave me!"

"Manuel. I asked you to trust me, right?"

"Right…?"

"New Abyssinia is going to track us. He came to find out what we knew about the virus, that much is clear to me. And who carries the most vital information about it on his back and in his head?" Manuel's hands trailed up to the straps of his backpack. "I know. I need to hold them off so you can get a head start, alright? They're already after us, but there's a small grove of trees and an oasis five miles east. Follow Vega and you should come across it. Stay there for the rest of the night, sleep through the day, and move only in darkness. Find your father."

"Ahmed, I can't leave you…" He was crying again, but he couldn't help it. Desperately, he tried to cling to any sense of professionalism he had found when talking to Romano about the virus or to his father. It just slipped through his fingers, and left him a frightened little boy.

"Don't cry, Manuel. We _will_ meet again." Ahmed turned to glance at Benghazi, but again, did not let New Mexico look. "I'd follow you, but my strength is fading with my country. Now you must go." He clicked something on his backpack, and a handle popped out. It was a rolling pack. He could let it roll behind him like a suitcase.

_He planned this._

"Please don't go," Manuel wiped at his eyes again. Before Ahmed could respond, there was the popping of gunfire around a mile or so away.

"I'm sorry. Now go!" He was being pushed now. "And don't look back!"

Manuel took one step, and then another, and then he was running, trying to keep himself silent and low to the ground, like he had been taught back at home[2]. The shouts were louder now, but there were many dips in the ground, so he stuck to them to keep himself out of sight. But, finally, the burning worry inside of him made him risk a furtive glance behind him. And he gasped, nearly stopping altogether.

Benghazi lit the night sky, a massive fire burning into space.

* * *

[1]- Arizona is pretty famous for having some of the best stargazing places in the US and a ton of observatories. She and New Mexico are very close, so she taught him a little about astronomy.

[2]- Native Americans


	13. Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be completely honest: I got caught up in the MCU fandom and completely forgot about this. To anyone reading, I am sincerely sorry. As an apology, the next chapter should be up on Wednesday or Thursday.
> 
> Names:
> 
> Utah—Ryan Jones  
Colorado—Cody Jones  
Nevada—Nathan Jones  
Hong Kong—Li Xiao

**Chapter 13: Siblings**

**March 18, 2029, 7:00**

**?**

_ “So, this is him?” _

_ Hiram nodded, gesturing to the baby boy in his wife’s arms. Deseret moved closer to the child, who was only a baby, maybe around ten months old. He had dark skin and curly brown hair, which contrasted sharply with Hiram and his wife’s much lighter skin and hair. _

_ “We think he’s one of… your kind,” Hiram continued. “We found him in the dead of night, and adopted him, thinking that he was an abandoned Indian child. That was three years ago.” _

_ Deseret nodded, letting a breath pass through his lips. This would be the sixth child like him that he had discovered in the past three decades. Though he was physically fourteen, he already felt like an old man, trying to control Cody and Nathan whenever they got together… _

_ He shook himself. No. Nathan had left him a long time ago. He missed his little brother more than he could ever imagine, but he had duties as Nevada now. He had tried to visit, once, but… _

_ He was an outsider. He may not be the most social person around, but even he could tell when he was being talked about behind his back. He hadn’t gone to visit his so-called ‘siblings’ after that. And Nathan had forgotten him soon enough anyways, but he wasn’t to be blamed for that. He had only been six when he became Nevada. _

_ Deseret shook himself, and held out his arms. “May I?” he asked, referring to the child. Hiram nodded and his wife passed the child to the teenager. The baby squirmed for a moment, but didn’t cry. He opened his eyes, staring at Deseret, before cooing and laughing. The teen smiled gently. _

_ “Yes,” he murmured, knowing what to say and that it was true. “This child is of my kind. I’ll have to take him—only with your permission, of course.” _

_ “It’s quite alright,” Hiram nodded. “We’ve said our goodbyes. We’ll grieve, but move on eventually. It’s his destiny, isn’t it? You can raise him much better than we ever could. And live long enough to see him grow into the virtuous man we know he’ll become.” _

_ Deseret nodded. “What’s his name?” _

_ “We called him Manuel.” _

_ “Manuel… I like that.” He made a funny face at the child, causing him to clap his hands with glee and laugh. “I’ll always make sure you’re safe, Manuel. You can rely on me.” _

Ryan, or the state of Utah, woke up crying. He blinked and brought a hand to his face, confused. Sitting up in his bed, he tried to recall the contents of his dream, only to have it slip through his fingers. He frowned, then sighed, hurriedly wiping at his eyes and guessing what the dream had been about. Manuel again, probably. He’d gone missing in the battle of Benghazi two days ago. Things hadn’t been the same since.

“Ryan? You alright?”

The sixteen-year-old state blinked and hurriedly rubbed the last of the tears out of his eyes, turning to face his younger sister. Colorado, or Cody, looked at her older brother worriedly, her dark red hair spilling out in waves around her light brown eyes. Ryan steeled himself and nodded.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Just a bad dream, Cody. How long was I out?”

“A while,” his sister shrugged, deciding to put off her questions. She put away the manga she was reading[1], and pulled up the television screen installed in the back of the seat in front of them. “We have, like, an hour left.”

“Finally,” Ryan sighed, stretching as much as he could in his tiny seat, feeling his back pop a couple times. “We’ve been travelling for almost a day now.”

“Mm-hm,” Cody hummed, before turning back to him. “Ryan, are you sure you’re alright? You’ve hardly even spoken about Manuel since we heard the news, and you two have always been so close.”

Ryan bit his lip and looked out the window of the plane, folding his arms and sighing. He wasn’t the only person who was close to Manuel, and it frustrated him slightly, how everyone was trying to pamper him about his brother’s disappearance. Then, again, he tried to see things from their point of view, and had to agree that he did seem extremely close to Manuel.

And that was true. Back in the 1800s, when he had been born, he’d been the first of what his siblings had nicknamed the ‘Mormon’ states. Born on July 24, 1845, he had grown rapidly even for an American state, actually aging as fast as a human in his first ten years of life before slowing down (that had actually lead to some complications when he’d stopped aging, but that was a story for another time). He’d ended up finding and raising six of his siblings after he hit his twelfth year.

Colorado had been the first, in the late 1850s. Then it was Idaho, and after that Nevada. He’d found Wyoming a couple years later, then Arizona, and finally New Mexico in the 1880s. He did have to admit that he’d doted on Manuel a bit more than the others, but that was mostly because he was considered the baby of their little section of the family. And though they had separated a bit after 1900, they still managed to get together every year or so. As such, New Mexico leaving and then disappearing had hit them all hard. But everyone had only been focusing on him and how  _ he _ was feeling, at that left him a bit frustrated. What about Arizona? She spent much more time with him than he did.

But he waved off his frustration and answered his sister. “Fine, I’m not. But none of us are. We’ll get him back eventually.” He did his best to pull a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry too much.”

Cody nodded and turned back to her manga, blindly accepting his explanation. Ignoring the curl of doubt in his stomach, Ryan did his best to force Manuel out of his mind turned on the TV in his own seat and checked the time. Yep, 57 more minutes until they arrived. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at missing the view over Japan and South Korea, but he’d seen it before on other trips, and he’d hopefully see it again on their way back.

It’d been a long two days. After Benghazi’s fall and New Mexico’s disappearance, America (their father, not the country) had gone into panic/rage mode, but still being off in Europe, had been restricted to forbidding his children to travel anywhere and stay at home where they were safe. The CIA had been sent to enforce that promise with the threat of house arrest if they didn’t comply, courtesy of Virginia[2].

But that hadn’t stopped Cody. Witty beyond her years and with little sense of self-preservation, she’d simply snuck out when her guards had their backs turned and run off to Utah with a plan. One that Ryan personally felt tempted to smack her upside the head for, but even he had relented eventually at the prospect of actually succeeding. A visit to Nathan[3] had gotten them two false identities and a ticket to Beijing. After that they’d flown out to San Francisco, and from there a twelve-hour flight to Beijing, China.

“You know, Cody,” Ryan muttered. “This plan of yours better work. Virginia knows we’re gone by now. It won’t be long until she gets the truth out of Nathan, and then we’ll be dead.”

“Aw, you’re such a goody two-shoes,” Cody rolled her eyes. “Live a little!”

“The only reason I’m coming is because you need me,” Ryan huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m the only state who speaks Mandarin Chinese fluently.”

“Along with, like, sixty other languages[4],” Colorado shot back. “You’re useful.”

“Fifty-four, Cody. I’m still learning Nepali.”

“Oh, just learn how to take a compliment!”

* * *

**March 18, 2029. 10:00**

**Beijing, China**

“So, where are we going now?” Ryan asked. They had disembarked from their flight several hours ago, but it had taken a couple hours to get through customs. They had taken their luggage—only a medium-sized suitcase between the two of them, to not attract attention—and sat down near the entrance on a bench, resting their sore feet.

“I’m calling the guy who’s going to pick us up,” Cody huffed, pulling out her cell phone. “He should’ve been here by now. I think he’s just running late.”

“Well, he better get here soon,” Ryan muttered, eyeing a suspicious-looking man as he passed them by. “Hurry up, or we’re going to be asked why two kids are out in an international airport on their own. And we  _ don’t  _ have an answer for that, you know.”

“I’m working on it!” Cody huffed, tucking a strand of dark red hair out of her face. “Oh, I’m getting a call right now…”

“Oh, we never should have done this,” Ryan moaned, putting his face in his hands. “We’re dead. So, so dead.”

“CORALINE EMMA JONES! WHERE IN THE—” Ryan winced at the very  _ colorful _ vocabulary in multiple languages spewing out of Cody’s phone once she clicked ‘accept.’ “ARE YOU?!?!”

Cody jerked the phone away from her ear as if it was spewing fire (which, in a way, it was) and hurriedly hung up without a word, chuckling nervously at the strange looks other people passing by gave them.

“I didn’t check the caller ID…” she muttered sheepishly as Ryan buried his face even deeper into the palms of his hands. “Oops. That was  _ probably  _ Virginia.”

“You think I didn’t notice?” Her older brother shot back. “We’re dead. You ride is never going to show up. We’re going to be stuck in this darn airport until Dad comes to skin us alive! We’re dead. Very, very dead.”

“Ryan…”

“Why do I ever listen to you? I raised you! I should know better than this!”

“Ryan!”

The black-haired teenager felt a punch hit his arm, and he shot up, rubbing it and shooting Cody a defensive look.

“What was that for?!” He exclaimed.

“You were panicking again,” Cody shrugged. “Besides, our ride is here.”

“Wait what?”

“Yo.”

Utah’s sight shot past Colorado to find a teenager just a couple years older than them, around eighteen or so, approaching them. He was dressed in a burgundy…  _ duangua _ , the word for it finally popping into his head. He had choppy brown hair and the same color of eyes. He had a single hand raised in greeting.

“Ah, Li Xiao!” Cody grinned, raising a hand for a high five. Still emotionless, the teen, Li Xiao, slapped it. The American state grinned. “Thanks for this favor, bro! This is my older brother, Ryan. Don’t mind him, he tends to be a goody two-shoes.”

“I do  _ not _ ,” Ryan muttered to himself, discreetly kicking Cody in the shin. “I’m Ryan.” He stuck out a hand politely. “And you are Li Xiao, correct?”

“Like, of course,” Li Xiao responded, one corner of his lip twitching upwards. “From Hong Kong.”

“Utah.”

“Ah, yes. Cody’s, like, talked about you a lot. Mostly complaints, but, like, you sounded alright.”

“I’m not surprised. How’d you two meet?”

“Oh, Li Xiao and I are anime and gaming pals,” Cody shrugged. “We’ve been switching manga for, like,  _ years _ , and we’ve recently started gaming together. This is the first time we’ve actually met in person, though.”

“So, you’re here to help out?” Ryan asked. “Did Cody tell you the plan? She tends to forget important details like that.”

“Like, totally,” Li Xiao waved a hand dismissively. “Come with me. I got a cab waiting, then I’ll take you to Aniki’s. I managed to get Japan and Korea over, too. You, like, totally owe me one for this. I told them that they were meeting your dad today, so, like, I’m going to be grounded for eternity once this is over.”

“Right! The next five video games are on me, dude!” Cody laughed, sound a bit too much like her father. Ryan sent her a warning look. “Thanks so much!” the redhead quickly added.

Li Xiao lead them out of the airport lobby, where, sure enough, there was a taxi waiting for them. Li Xiao then asked the driver to take them to the suburbs of the city in Mandarin, which he then paid for, and hopped into the front seat, leaving Ryan and Cody to sit in the back.

“It’ll, like, take us a little over an hour to get to Zhongnanhai,” Li Xiao announced. “That’s where Aniki, Japan, and Korea are, anyways.”

Cody nodded, pulling out another manga to reread (she’d gone through her stash twice during their flight), while Ryan pulled out his phone awkwardly, plugging it into the charging port to get its battery back up to full power. He knew that Li Xiao was taking a huge risk for them. He just had to hope that his sister’s plan would work.

The hour passed slowly and was filled with more than one awkward silence, but they managed to get through it. Despite his outward appearance, Li Xiao was actually quite sociable. They talked for a little while, about the war and New Mexico, before the topic turned to their home lives and the hazards of living in a chaotic family— _ that _ Ryan could relate with. He could definitely see how Cody had struck up a friendship with the Cantonese teenager.

But before he felt anywhere near ready, the taxi had pulled up around a half-mile or so from their destination, unable to take them any further without clearance. They walked the rest of the route, making their way through security with Hong Kong’s help. The meeting was due to start in fifteen minutes by then, and Li Xiao showed them into his own private room, where Ryan changed into his best suit, Cody into a white blouse, a suit jacket, a skirt that went to right above her knees, and black tights, and Li Xiao into a traditional Chinese black button-down shirt and pants.

“So…” Utah let out a breath as Cody finished her change, exiting Hong Kong’s room. They now stood in the hallway, which was empty. “I guess it’s my turn now.”

“Yep,” Colorado grinned as they began to walk into the meeting room. “You know I couldn’t do this without punching someone’s nose in. Just charm them with your Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean. That worked last time.”

“That was only to get China to meet Dad! This is going to be a lot harder.”

“Hey, you’re Utah. Like, the only person besides Iowa, Maine and Georgia who Dad trusts not to wreck the house when he leaves.”

“That’s not really much of an achievement.”

“Just do your best,” Hong Kong put in. “Aniki and Japan like noodles and new types of food, South Korea will join your side quickly since he’s, like, close allies with your dad, and North Korea will follow whatever South does. Aniki will be the hardest. He’s stubborn, but the allure of food usually gets him to agree with you.”

Utah let out a long breath, and they lapsed into silence for the rest of the way into the meeting. Again, Hong Kong used his status to get them past security, and then they were in front of the doors to the room.

“Alright,” he murmured to himself, pausing before they entered. “Ryan, it’s like you’re just going to ask Dad to become a state again[5]. Easy peasy.”

“Good luck,” Hong Kong added from Utah’s right. “Like, you’re going to need it.”

And then he opened the doors.

It was a simple meeting room, with a circular table with the four expected nations around it, with several bodyguards in the background. A man with a large curl was talking animatedly to a similar-looking man with a similar curl, though he had much longer hair pulled into a thin braid down his back.  _ That’s North and South Korea. _ A man with think black hair was reviewing his papers reservedly, pointedly ignoring a much older nation, probably in his late 30s, who wore his hair in a ponytail.  _ The one in the ponytail is China; I remember him. So that means the last guy is Japan. _

As he and Colorado entered (Hong Kong just scooted off towards the side) all attention turned onto them. China scowled as South Korea gasped, looking surprised.

“Who are you, aru?” China questioned sharply, standing up. “We’re here to meet with America, not some kids.”

_ So he doesn’t recognize me. It’s been a while, after all, and we met so briefly. _ Even so, Utah couldn’t help but feel a stab of bitter disappointment. He’d been hoping China would remember him so that he’d be trusted just a little bit more.  _ Oh, well. _ He made eye contact with Colorado, who flashed him a reassuring smile.

He took a deep breath, and summoned every last scrap of courage in his body, suddenly feeling very out of his depth in front of these millennia-old beings.

“My name is Ryan Jones of the State of Utah, acting on behalf of the United States of America and NATO. I am here to ask you to help us in our efforts to destroy New Abyssinia.”

* * *

[1]- According to estately.com, the top five nerdiest states, in order, are Utah, Alaska, Wyoming, Idaho, and Colorado. Seeing as Utah raised three of the five and he’s in the top spot as well, I’m guessing that he’s rubbed off on them a bit.

[2]- The CIA headquarters are in Virginia, so I imagine her as the law enforcer

[3]- Out of the six states he’d be the most likely one to have stuff that’s illegal. Plus, come on, considering what stereotypically happens in Nevada, I think he’d have some of this stuff ready to go on him.

[4]- Taking after the Mormon missionaries, Utah’s gotten a knack for languages. He tends to learn them in his free time.

[5]- Utah tried—and failed—to become a state for almost fifty years, from 1848 to 1896.

Word News (March 17 to March 19, 2029):

1) Australia and New Zealand refuse to participate in the war due to lack of concern but will provide moral support for the allies

2) Pakistan, Iran, the Philippines, South Africa, Namibia, Botswana, Mozambique, and Tanzania join the Allied Powers.

3) East Turkestan and Tibet don’t recognize the problem


	14. Allied, Eurasian, Abyssinian

**March 19, 2029**

**New Delhi, India**

"You have _got _to be kidding me."

England groaned, placing his head in his hands. On the screen in front of him, the redhead girl—Colorado, he reminded himself—and her brother, that Utah boy, shared a look. Utah was sending a "mind your manners" sort of look at his sister, while Colorado was either refusing to pay attention or just not noticing the visual scolding she was being sent. Hong Kong sat off to the side and half out of sight, silent, though he was giving off a satisfied look, noticeable by the way his lips barely curved upwards.

"Hey, my plan worked, didn't it?" Colorado waved off her brother nonchalantly. "You need to relax a bit, bro. You did great!"

"Great? It was a miracle they even listened to me at all!" Utah shot back, running his hands through his hair. The poor boy looked like he was going to go gray with stress. England could relate to that.

"Just let me get this straight," England sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand. "You, Utah, and you sister, Colorado, deliberately went behind your father's back and travelled to Beijing without informing anyone and practically sending the American Government into shutdown. You then went to Hong Kong and got him to set up a meeting with China, Korea, and Japan. Then, you pretended to have been sent by NATO to persuade them to join the war against New Abyssinia."

"When you put it that way..." Colorado laughed awkwardly. Utah groaned.

"Look, we just need you to pretend that you actually sent us to Beijing," he explained tiredly. "We got the East Asians to agree to join the war, that should be enough to have you help us out a bit here."

"Why don't you just ask your father?" England shot back. "I'm sure he'd help you out."

"Not before killing us first," Colorado put in. "I'd prefer to postpone my death for as long as possible. Look, you pretend that we were acting on your orders, East Asia joins the war. Win-win!"

"I suppose you do have a point…" England sighed. "But honestly, Hong Kong. I thought I raised you better than this!"

"That's, like, what you think," the Chinese territory smirked, causing the former empire to roll his eyes. "I mean, Australia, America, and I were all, like, raised by you."

"Don't remind me."

"Your stop is coming up," The government-issued driver spoke up for the first time, beginning to slow down and pull away from the New Delhi traffic. "We'll be there in around a minute, sir."

"Thank you," England responded, before turning back to the three teenagers. "Fine, I'll help you. But I need to get going, so it'll be an hour or so until I can talk to China. I have a meeting with India in a couple minutes. Hopefully, he'll be joining the war soon as well."

"It's alright!" Colorado laughed, grinning and fistpumping the air. "Yes! I am a genius! My plan worked!"

"Thank you so much for your help, England," Utah put in, sending a warning look to his sister. "We really appreciate it."

"Thank me once we win this war," the Brit responded. "Have a good day—afternoon for you, I suppose."

"Time zones are funky, aren't they? Bye!" Colorado waved, grinning much like her father would. Not wanting to deal with this political fiasco any longer than necessary (did they have _any_ idea of the existing tensions between India and China?), England clicked off his phone and the holographic screen portraying them vanished as he ended the video call. As he did so, the taxi driver pulled into the driveway of an expensive home, flashing his ID to a security drone and finally stopping by the front door.

"Thank you for the ride," the British nation tipped his driver and stepped out of the taxi, grabbing his suitcase from the trunk and walking up to the front door and knocking firmly.

A couple moments passed, then a "coming!" sounded from inside. A half a minute passed again before the door opened, revealing a flustered-looking India, in a semi-formal button-up shirt and slacks.

"Namaste[1], Arthur!" He bowed politely and moved to let him inside his home. England gladly stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and setting them next to the entrance[2]. "I trust you had a safe trip here?"

"Yes," England nodded politely. "You've been doing well, Rana?"

"Very," his former colony replied with a smile. "My economy has gone up five percent in the last year alone, actually. Have you heard?"

"No," England shook his head apologetically. "I've been quite busy with the war, as you can probably guess. I haven't had much time to catch up with the rest of the world's politics and events recently."

"I can imagine," India huffed as he became more serious, though his lips still quirked upwards slightly. "That is why you're here, after all. I suppose we can dispose of the pleasantries and get straight to the point. Come with me." He beckoned for England to follow him, and the former empire set down his suitcase by his shoes and followed his former colony into the dining room, where he had prepared a table and chairs. India took one and England the other, sitting across from each other.

"So, I know you want to get me to join the war," India began once they had sat. "But my government is quite split on the subject of joining. On one hand, New Abyssinia is a great threat to us if you and NATO cannot defeat him, but on the other, we'd be working with…" he scowled for a moment. "_Pakistan_. As you can hopefully understand, it's become quite the debate in my lands."

"Yes, I understand," England nodded. "But I am going to have to ask you to at least try to let go of the rivalry you have with your son for now. Even Eurasia and America are working together, and that's saying something."

"Pakistan is no longer my son," India reminded him politely but firmly, his eyes flashing with a well-concealed anger. "He has not been in my family for almost a century now. But I do understand where you are coming from. Eurasia and America working together was not something I expected to see happen so soon."

"Well, we can talk about the issue of Pakistan later," England changed the subject, not wanting to stay on the dangerous topic of India's familial affairs for longer than absolutely necessary. "What I've been meaning to ask is: what have you done with those dangerous minerals Nepal found five years ago? The ones you annexed her over?"

"Oh, Amisha and her minerals!" India blinked, as if just recalling the events that had taken place almost half a decade previous. "I stored them safely, in a place only my government employees and agencies can enter or tamper with."

"That's good to know," England nodded. "I hear you've made some progress in converting them into weapons, as well."

"So _that's_ why you so desperately want me on your side," India chuckled suddenly, eyes flashing. "No offense taken, of course. If I were you, I'd be taking the same steps to make sure I controlled the mineral. And before you ask, no, I will not be releasing Amisha in these current conditions. She's caused a lot of trouble for me and I don't trust her to take care of herself yet."

_Well, you haven't changed much, I see,_ England mused to himself, a flare of ironic amusement shooting through him. _You may be friendly and polite, Rana, but you're still the troublesome colony I remember_.

"I've made significant progress on the mineral, however," India continued. "Using it in bullets as ammunition, I can disintegrate vehicles and troops alike. Quite a breakthrough in the current style of warfare, if I do say so myself. If the UN will give me permission to use them against New Abyssinia, _then_ I'll consider letting Nepal go."

England raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. "What happened to being on the same side as Pakistan?"

"Oh, I won't _really_ be on his side," India shrugged with a smirk. "I'm sure my politicians would love a chance like this to rub our successes in his nose. They wouldn't be the only ones."

"If I decided to grant this request, what exactly would you do with the minerals after the war ended? If it was in our favor, of course."

"There isn't a lot of this mineral," India shrugged. "So I'm not sure that my supply would even last us all the way through the war. If there are leftovers once we are done, we can discuss ways of disposing of them properly."

"Then it's settled," England smiled, reaching out a hand. India took it, and they shook firmly. "You'll be joining the Third World War."

"So that's what they're calling it now," India muttered. "I suppose it is a World War, now that I think of it."

"Just be glad that New Abyssinia doesn't have nuclear technology," England responded. "Who know how catastrophic the war would be then."

"You're right about that, Arthur," India chuckled. "Would you like to stay for lunch? I would like to talk about the particulars of the war. I heard New Order Venezuela recently made landing in Mauritania."

"Yes, I would," England nodded. "Venezuela has been doing an amazing job in her part of the war recently, yes. No doubt she'll be accepted into NATO after all this is over."

"No doubt," India repeated with a chuckle, standing up. "Now, I'll go call Amisha over, and we can get ready for lunch."

* * *

**May 17, 2030**

**Moscow, Eurasian Union**

New Abyssinia—Safe: Mogadishu, Djibouti, Addis Ababa, Asmara; Sudan; South Sudan; Kenya In Danger: Beni Suef, Egypt; Sabha, Libya; Adrar, Libya Fallen: None

Allies—Safe: Washington DC, USA; London, England; Moscow, Eurasian Union; Rome, Italy; Morocco; Mauritania; Mecca and Medina, Saudi Arabia; Benghazi, American Libya; In Danger: Cairo, Egypt; Tripoli, Italian Libya; Sana'a, Yemen Fallen: None

"Ugh. I hate this place," America muttered. Germany murmured his assent, scowling at a Eurasian official passing them by on the way to the meeting room.

"Ja, I must agree," Germany responded, feeling uncomfortable as he walked. He wasn't used to being sent to the capital of Eurasia, considering it was borderline communist and all that. "Prussia flat-out refuses to come with me whenever I'm called to Moscow. Not that I could ever blame him."

"Yeah, I totally get it," America huffed, letting his breath hiss out in between his teeth. "Why did our leaders want us to talk to talk to him? His problem with being hacked or something?"

"You don't listen at all, do you?" Germany responded, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "We're here to discuss ransomware attacks on his government servers and new battle strategies. I don't think it'll go well, though. I have a really bad feeling about this."

"Really?" America questioned, raising one eyebrow. "I mean, I know Russia. Man's one inch away from falling off the crazy cliff. But he won't try anything against NATO at a time like this. That'd be stupid. And Russia may be crazy, but he sure as hell isn't an idiot."

"It's not an attack against _us_ I'm worried about."

America frowned, then shrugged it off. "What is the worst thing he could do? Send more troops to New Abyssinia? That'd be a good thing."

Germany didn't answer, giving up on trying to explain the unsettling feeling that had made its home in the pit of his stomach, instead opening the door to the meeting room they had been approaching. Inside was a waist-high table, a screen displaying a map of the world where the top usually would've been. There were several Eurasian officials there, and Germany caught sight of Russia fairly quickly. The pale blonde was talking animatedly to a woman is wavy light brown hair and skin. She seemed familiar. Germany frowned, trying to place where he had seen her before.

The face of the central Asian nation who had supported America in that world-changing World Meeting back in 2015 popped into his head unannounced, and Germany blinked in surprise. Tajikistan! That was her name! He hadn't seen or heard of her since she and her allies had united with Russia to form Eurasia back in 2016.

However, something didn't seem right. Despite the fact that it was actually rather chilly in the Moscow government building, beads of sweat were forming at the Asian woman's hairline, and she seemed to almost be pleading with Russia about something. America's old rival, Germany noted, was completely calm, though there were traces of the dark aura that formed when he was upset beginning to form.

Tajikistan seemed to notice them almost immediately once they entered the room. Her expression turned from worry to fear, and she rushed away from Russia, not even bothering to say any parting remarks, and hurried towards them.

"Tajikistan?" Germany asked in confusion as Russia made his way over to the two western nations. "Is Russia treating you badly? What's going on?"

"You have to leave," Tajikistan burst, brushing aside the question. "You need to get back to your countries and get ready for the backlash that's about to occur. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We couldn't stop him. Even Belarus tried, but he didn't listen to any of us! I'm sorry, sorry, sorry…" she trailed off, placing her head in her hands in shame and despair.

America and Germany shared an alarmed look, and the world superpower frowned, immediately stepping past Tajikistan and towards Russia, who regarded him calmly, even with a hint of amusement. Germany took the distraught woman in his arms as he watched the two Cold War nations lock eyes, and felt a tingling of terror rip up his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Any previous positive emotions (indeed, if there were any there in the first place), were suddenly sucked out of the room as the world's two biggest powers locked gazes with each other, both daring each other to make a move against them. America's usual boisterous and clueless persona had evaporated within seconds of hearing Tajikistan's words. As he watched the showdown (indeed, even the government officials had stopped their busywork, seeming to feel what exactly was going on), Germany found himself thrown back in time to the year 1962[3], when America never took off the cold and logical mask[4] he was wearing now in fear of being stabbed in the back.

He really hoped the Cold War wouldn't start up again after the war against New Abyssinia was over.

"Ivan." Oh, America was using Russia's human name. This was serious. "What exactly did you do?"

"Ah, you seem so worried, Alfred," Russia chuckled, though his dark aura appeared in full force. Everyone in the room (except America) flinched back from the sudden drop in temperature. "I'm about to end this war. Why don't you tell little Tajikistan that everything is going correctly, da?"

"_What did you do, Ivan_?" America hissed, eyes flaring up as they connected with Russia's violet orbs.

"I ended the war," came the reply.

"IVAN!" America's foot came down and smashed straight through the wrought-iron floor. Germany winced involuntarily. America had little to no patience, certainly, but when he went Cold War, it tended to express itself in… violent ways. "WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?"

"They were hurting me and my government, da?" Russia chuckled, though even he seemed slightly more serious than usual. Tajikistan's hands clenched the folds of Germany's uniform tightly and she let out a dry sob, muttering more and more apologies to the central European nation.

"_Ivan_." America crossed his arms and took his foot out of his self-made hole in the floor, planting them solidly on the ground.

"I nuked them. With a RS-28 Sarmat[5]. It should be landing on Addis Ababa in moments."

The temperature dropped a further fifteen degrees, and even America took a half-step back in shock. Nukes. _Nukes_. Russia had just brought nukes into the picture. Germany gritted his teeth. He remembered what Japan had looked like after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as did America. He wished that kind of pain on no one, not even someone like New Abyssinia.

"What?" America asked quietly, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. Electric blue met fiery violet, and it seemed to Germany that a fight was about to break out at any moment.

"I nuked them," Russia replied just as confidently. He glanced over to the map on the table, and Germany's eyes flickered over to it, noting a timer ticking down in the corner, along with a red dot trailing over what used to be Eritrea. "It will be landing in… two minutes and fourteen seconds."

"You just don't get what you've just done, do you?" America very nearly growled. He raised a hand and began ticking off fingers. "The Declaration of St. Petersburg, 1868. Hague Convention, 1907. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 1948. Geneva Conventions, 1949. The Protocols additional to the Geneva Conventions, 1977. The Nuclear Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, 1995. The NSAs, 2019[6]. How many am I forgetting, Germany?"

The central European nation blinked, surprised to be called out, then racked his brain to see if America had forgotten any of the agreements and treaties he had just listed. "None off the top of my head," he responded after a moment.

"That's seven treaties and international laws you've broken, _Eurasia_," America hissed, holding up the same amount of fingers. "Not to mention that we don't even know if New Abyssinia has nukes of his own! What in the world are you trying to pull here?!"

"I'm going to end this war, da?" Russia grinned as he and America stood off. "New Abyssinia has already been using biological warfare against us. Technically, he's already broke the rules."

_Bang!_

Tajikistan let out a cry as Russia was abruptly sent back a meter from the force of America's punch to his face. The Eurasian nation raised an eyebrow at the superpower, his hand fingering the red mark on his cheek. Several Eurasian officials rushed forwards, but Russia held up a hand to stop them, standing up and drawing himself into his full height.

"That tantrum you just threw could be seen as a declaration of war, Америка," he threatened. "And is that really what you want?"

America drew himself into his full height. Somehow, he seemed taller than a scant five minutes before. "Perhaps," he replied icily. "If we cannot trust you to make intellectual decisions, then I would be glad to finally put you six feet under."

"I would be glad to take you down with me, da? Just like people always thought it would go. You and I in a blaze of glory."

America spat on the floor. "You're sick, Ivan. You can't even begin to realize what's going to happen to you once this war is over."

"Really? Because it was _your_ satellite system, after all," he gestured to the map. Germany's eyes widened as he recognized it's features from the maps he and the other allies had been using. America's eye twitched. "That allowed all of this to happen. No doubt New Abyssinia has found access to it as well, if his hacking ability is anything to go by. No doubt it's how he knew the perfect moment to strike Benghazi and kill your son!"

America lost any speck of self-control at that. He swung again at Russia with a mighty roar. The pale blond nation blocked it this time and retaliated with a hit of his own, which America simply took with a grunt and kneed the Russian in his midsection without missing a beat. He then wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled, but Russia recovered quickly and used his larger size to throw America onto the hard floor.

The world's two superpowers glared at each other in a mixture of pure hatred and anger. By then, Germany couldn't stand back any longer.

"STOP!" He roared, stepping in between the two nations and raising his hands placatingly. Everyone else in the room seemed to unfreeze, and several the Eurasian officials rushed towards their representative while Tajikistan moved to America, helping him off of the ground.

"Stop…" Germany repeated, this time softer. He had intervened in situations like this dozens of times before, in World and NATO meetings alike, but now, for the first time, his hands were shaking, just slightly, out of fear. These two nations held the power to destroy the world in their hands, and he couldn't just let them duke it out in the center of Moscow. "You are both acting rashly. Calm down."

"He nuked New Abyssinia." Something flashed in America's eyes, but it was gone before Germany could place it. "And insulted my son."

Germany frowned deeply, inwardly agreeing with his ally. America hadn't exactly taken the disappearance of his state well, and he was lashing out more as a result. However, he couldn't let those biased feelings manifest and prevent America from calming down. They were practically at Russia's mercy in their current position.

"He thinks he can control what I do, da?" Russia hummed. "It's better to sacrifice the enemy than our allies. I thought you of all people would know that, America."

"I'm sure you don't, considering your history[7]," America hissed. Russia stiffened, expression freezing, and Germany sent his ally a silencing look that hopefully conveyed his command to "shut the hell up" accurately.

"Сэр! В спутниковой системе есть неисправность[8]!" Everyone turned to see one of the Eurasian scientists rushing towards them. Germany frowned, having to take a moment to decipher his words (his Russian was a little rusty), then his eyes widened. "он говорит, что ядерное оружие направляется к атмосфере!"

"What?!" Tajikistan exclaimed in shock and surprise. She and America rushed towards the map, Russia and Germany right behind them, quarrel momentarily forgotten, though both America and Russia made sure to put at least two meters of space in between each other.

The four nations stopped their quarrel and looked at the digital map. Sure enough, the counter for the nuke's landing had long since hit zero, but the red dot over Addis Ababa had stilled. Germany's eyes flickered to the altitude readings in the corner to see what was going on.

"У нас нет контроля над ракетой!" Another scientist cried, getting off of the phone, most likely from the control room piloting the nuclear missile.

4,000 kilometers above ground level. 6,000 kilometers_._ Higher and higher the altitude readings went. Higher and higher…

Germany clenched his teeth. This wasn't an error of PXT 2020. It had worked perfectly since it had been opened to NATO's use. Something had happened, but who had the technology to redirect an entire nuclear rocket without detonating it, especially when the nation it was heading for had no idea it was coming? He racked his brain trying to remember something, anything, that would give a reason for this behavior.

Then he frowned, realizing something. _Why isn't the nuke moving on the map? Sure, it's only two-dimensional, but_ _it should be moving off to the side as it rockets upward and past the satellite. That means that the nuke…_

12,000. 14,000.

_They… they aimed it…_

16,000. It's speed was growing faster and faster as it left the Earth's gravity behind.

_At…_

18,000.

"They've aimed it!" Germany cried. "They've redirected it at the satellite system! They're going to destroy PXT 2020!"

Tajikistan let out a cry as America began shouting at the Eurasian officials in Russian to do something, to stop the nuke from hitting one of his best inventions yet. Germany didn't move. It was already too late. PXT orbited at 20,200 kilometers above the Earth's surface. They only had seconds to act, and only the American command center half a world away in Florida and Georgia could move the satellite that had cost trillions of dollars to produce away in any reasonable amount of time.

Several seconds trickled by, and then the digital map on table sparkled, then fizzled out completely. An error code appeared in the right hand corner, and America put his head in his hands. Russia fidgeted, though it was impossible for Germany to deduce whether he was ashamed of what had just happened or not. A deafening silence came over the previously hectic room.

"_We no speak Americano!_"

Suddenly, a phone ringtone blared in the room, causing everyone to jump. The music was upbeat and happy, and Germany felt a twinge of morbid amusement at the sharp contrast of the music to the current atmosphere. America let out a sigh and pulled out his cellphone, putting it in private mode and up to his ear.

"What's up, Italy?" he asked tiredly. "Why can't you just call Germany? I am _not_ having a good day."

Something was spoken rapidly on the other line, and America's eyes widened.

"Really?!" He exclaimed. "What does he want?" He paused for a moment. "Well, this was a bit of a bad time to call, but I'll get Tex and Mass to help me. Be over at your place in twelve hours tops." He clicked off the phone and stuffed it in his pocket, turning to Russia as he did so.

"You're lucky something just came up, Ivan," He hissed, jabbing a finger in the Eurasian's direction. "Or else I honestly would have declared war on you for that. I don't care that we're fighting the same enemy. You are _extremely_ lucky."

"Oh, Alfred," Russia chuckled darkly. "We never were and never will be allies. You know that."

"Do I ever," America muttered under his breath, standing up. Louder, he added, "I expect you to pay me back for that little fiasco of yours. Germany, we're leaving. Something _more important_ needs my attention."

And with that, the western superpower whipped out of the room, Germany given no choice but to follow.

* * *

[1]- An Indian form of greeting. It conveys respect and formality

[2]- In India, you usually take off your shoes when entering a home. It's polite and keeps the house clean.

[3]- 1962 is widely regarded to be the height of the Cold War, during which the Cuban missile crisis reached its peak as Russian officials placed nuclear missiles startlingly close to an American naval blockade

[4]- A headcanon of mine. My personal belief is that, contrary to what others think, the sociable and dorky side of America is his true self. He has two main masks, usually for protection and to serve as a weapon in times of crisis—his "Cold War" persona and the idiotic persona that's seen at times in the anime. Several other countries are aware of this 'protection' method of his (England, Canada, and Germany being among them), but don't do much about it, mostly because America's masks _are_ useful.

[5]- A real nuke, capable of destroying entire cities several times over. For example, if this nuke actually landed in Addis Ababa, then around 4 million people would be killed instantly, with an estimated half a million more injuries, not considering the fallout. Everyone within a 50 km radius of the bombing site would experience third-degree burns at the least. The fallout radiation would then blow with wherever the wind went. If the wind blew northeast, for example, it would completely envelop Djibouti and parts of Eritrea and Yemen. (Source: Nukemap. Really recommended to see if what would happen if your own city was hit with a nuke.)

[6]- Various agreements and treaties restricting the use of nukes and unnecessary losses of human life. I'm too lazy to put them all up here after the long footnotes of 4 and 5, so look them up if you want to know what they are.

[7]- America is referring to the days of the Soviet Union, when Russia enacted 'Holodomor' on Ukraine, deliberately starving her people and killing an estimated 10 million citizens in the hopes of stopping a possible capitalist rebellion. Was Russia himself directly involved? It's up to you to make that call. This event took place in the years of 1932-33.

[8]- Translations:

"Sir! There is a malfunction in the satellite system! It's saying the nuke is heading towards the atmosphere!"

"We don't have control over the rocket!"

World News (March 29, 2029 to June 4, 2030):

1) Many nations in Africa are too afraid to take action against New Abyssinia because they are afraid that they'll be occupied easily since they're not stable

2) The Arab League's moral increased when many nations started sending troops towards North Africa and the Middle East

3) Eurasian Union was recently hacked by New Abyssinian hackers. Russia is displeased.

4) Pakistan is not pleased with India taking part in the war

5) New Order Venezuela makes landing in occupied Mauritania

6) Eurasian Union continues to be hacked by New Abyssinia. In response, he sends a nuke to New Abyssinia as they consider it a threat to the Russian Federation.

7) The Allies, including India and China, are outraged

8) A SUPER SOLDIER HAS REDIRECTED THE NUCLEAR MISSILE TOWARDS THE ATMOSPHERE


	15. Trade

**June 4, 2030**

**Jebel Akhdar, US Libya**

The leaves crunched quietly under America's boots as he and Romano walked through the loose forest of Jebel Akhdar. The stars above them shone brightly, the gibbous moon lighting the path before them just enough so that they wouldn't fall over roots and or other protrusions in the ground. They were pretty silent as they walked, on high alert for any signs of an ambush.

Neither had opted to come on this mission unarmed, however—they weren't idiotic enough to do that. Romano had equipped himself with his Bolt-Action .338 rifle, which had a night-vision scope and enough lightweight ammo to last him a week, and several blades strapped to his hips. America himself had decided to take his Spider Gear—now upgraded, thanks to Texas, Massachusetts, and their scientific team's continued work on it. It was now attached to his back, and was modeled after an actual spider and the Marvel superhero Spiderman (Alfred may or may not have had some influence there). It had taken some getting used to the eight extra appendages on his back, but he had been training with them for months, and was getting steadily more skilled with the weapon.

They were alone, just as the message had asked them to be, but America and Romano had purposefully decided to take the risk being alone belied. What they could be receiving would be worth it.

At almost the exact same time New Abyssinia had somehow redirected Eurasia's nuke into America's satellite system (something he had still not forgiven the dirty commie for), Italy had received a message from Ezana, the nation of New Abyssinia, announcing that he wished to make a trade with them during a temporary truce in the war, as long as they came alone. Usually, the Allies would have ignored such a request(and actually, they had), but what New Abyssinia had offered was what had prompted the duo to come to the front lines against the orders of their leaders.

New Abyssinia had New Mexico and Libya in his possession. And he was willing to trade them for something he had yet to specify. America had immediately been on board with the trade, and Romano had ended up coming as well, since he had been asked to come as well (technically, both Italies had, but there was no way Veneziano was coming). No else except the high command of NATO even knew about the meeting, not even the other nations.

Hopefully, this wasn't a ruse to capture two of NATO's leaders.

Finally, America's GPS watch beeped, indicating the spot where they were set to meet New Abyssinia, and the two stopped, scanning the forest warily.

"Where is the ambassador?" Romano asked, fingering the trigger of his rifle and sweeping it around the forest, looking for a possible target. His hands trembled slightly, betraying his fear.

America bit his lower lip. "Even I have to admit that this was a bit of a risk. A risk worth taking, but we should be on guard, probably." There was a sound off to the south, and he instantly lowered his voice as a solitary pair of footsteps approached them. "I hear footsteps to the south. There he is."

As he spoke, a dark-skinned man revealed himself from the dark undergrowth and stepped into the moonlight, revealing his features. This wasn't New Abyssinia, but they hadn't expected him to come in person, so that was no surprise. Jade green eyes sparkled in the dark, revealing his identity as a super soldier. There was a _shotel_[1] strapped to his thigh and a pistol to the opposite hip, but other than that he was unarmed. But his relaxed posture didn't make the two nations drop their guards. This was a super soldier. His strength most likely almost matched America's, and that made him a threat, no matter how unarmed he was.

"I'm glad you came," the Abyssinian soldier announced, almost robotically, in clipped English.. "I thought my enemies would be too afraid to actually meet me face-to-face." He stopped just a couple feet away from them, still utterly at ease. "I'll make sure this trade is fair for the both of us."

"Enough chit-chat," Romano snapped, hands tightening around his weapon to hide their shaking. "We're on a schedule. Get to the point already."

"Calm down, _Ato_[2]," the man chuckled easily. "There is no need to raise your voice." Romano scowled and flipped him off, but it didn't faze the super soldier. "Anyways, I'm sure you've heard about your poor advanced satellite system getting destroyed and falling back to Earth. A shame, really."

America scowled.

"Of course I remember. I saw it happen," he responded curtly.

"I am not surprised," the Abyssinian shrugged. There was a whirring behind them, and the three turned to see an all-terrain van parking nearby in a medium-sized clearing. "I've brought some Italian and American prisoners from your silly little antiviral program with me. The American kid and African man are with them. I understand they are all valuable to you."

America gritted his teeth and took a step forward. Manuel! Manuel was only fifty feet away! It had been over a year since he'd gone missing. Was he alright? Was he safe? A hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, and America turned to see Romano just barely shaking his head, silently asking him to wait. America scowled, but stepped back and forced himself to finish listening to what the Abyssinian was saying.

"Surely, these men hold important information that you don't want us to know," the super soldier was still speaking. "And we only want one thing in return for them."

* * *

**Same Time**

**400 Meters Away**

"Are we getting closer?" China asked, frowning deeply as he pulled a stray leaf out of his hair, which he had pulled back into a small bun for their excursion. Germany nodded curtly, and he let out a short breath of relief. England followed behind silently, poised for any kind of attack. "I'm going to look like a pig when this is all over."

"I have to admit, this is one of the stupider things America has done," England murmured, looking over his shoulder to keep an eye out for attackers. "Though I didn't think Romano would be so thoughtless when going into a dangerous situation like this."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Germany muttered. "We're just lucky I thought to ask Veneziano what was going on. He never lies to me, so we should be grateful that he told us what was happening tonight."

"_不作不死__, __英 _[3]," China murmured as a reminder. "I can't believe I'm doing this." The trio fell silent again as they continued through the forest.

England's fingers twitched on the pistol he had strapped to his hip. Indeed, they had been lucky to find out about this meeting at all. It was only because Veneziano had been his usual airheaded self and had babbled about it to Germany yesterday that they were here. Honestly, he couldn't help but worry for his former colony. He cared for the boy (but he was not a boy anymore), but sometimes England just wanted to bash his former brother's head in with a rock with all the idiotic shenanigans he got into. There hadn't been time to talk to their leaders or throw together a squad to aid them in finding Romano and America; Germany had been forced to grab the two nations who happened to be nearby and do it on his own in order to get there in time.

Suddenly, China twitched, and then he threw himself in between Germany and England, grabbing both of them roughly by the arms. He activated a button on a metal holster he had attached to his wrist as three silent bullets whipped towards them. The Mini Barrier technology that England had invented back in 2028 sprung into being around them, a small deflector shield shining a pale blue in the night as it sprung into being around them and prevented them from experiencing a quick death. The bullets fell harmlessly to the ground.

"Blimey…" England breathed, whipping out his pistol. "That was close."

"You owe me one," China chuckled loosely, pulling out his rifle from its position on his back, the shield fading away.

A dark shape dropped down from the trees, and the three tensed, preparing for battle. The figure was dark-skinned and wore a black jumpsuit, making it nearly impossible to identify him.

"Mini Barrier Shield Technology…?" England blinked, recognizing the voice from somewhere. China slowly lowered his gun as the person did not attack. "Oh, it's only you guys. Sorry about that. You're England, Germany, and China, right? Arthur, Ludwig, and Yao?"

The man stepped into the moonlight, holding his hands up in surrender. He was on the larger side, with thick brown hair pulled into a ponytail. He sported an ugly scar on his right temple, but other than that seemed to be in good health.

"Ethiopia…" Germany gasped in realization. China and England stiffened in shock, sharing a surprised look with each other. Ethiopia?! They had all been told that he had died back in 2023, when New Abyssinia had risen to power! "You're alive?"

"Alive and well," he responded curtly. "Though I can't say the same for much of my people. New Abyssinia has really done them in."

"How did you survive?" England asked, incredulous.

"I never died, though I did come pretty damn close," Ethiopia shrugged, tapping the scar on his temple as he lowered his arms. "Well, sure, I _was_ killed by Abyssinia, but he left me to rot on the side of a road in a shallow grave, probably thinking I was dead for good. But I revived a couple days later—most likely the worst pain I've ever experienced as well. I wandered around for a bit until I was taken in by a family sympathetic to me. It took me a couple years, but I found more and more people willing to help me fight for my right to represent the country. I've been leading a resistance group in my own land ever since."

"Well, it's good to know that not all of your people have fallen to your brother," Germany asserted. "But what exactly are you doing here, and not in New Abyssinia?"

"Good question," Ethiopia responded. He walked past them, staring off into the distance, enraptured in some kind of distant memory. "I assume you've heard about the trade that Abyssinia has offered."

"Yeah? What about the trade?" England asked, turning around to face the former nation. "What does that have to do with you?"

Ethiopia laughed humorlessly. "Heh. Didn't you all talk before deciding to find out what the trade is actually about?"

England shared a look with China and Germany. They actually hadn't talked about that much, but they knew enough. America wanted to get his son back from New Abyssinia, but taking much too large of a risk in doing so, endangering both himself and Romano.

"What are you implying?" England questioned with a deep frown, pulling out his pistol. "Is it actually a trap? We were heading to investigate to see if it was."

"New Abyssinia has been secretly using PXT 2020, your classified satellite system," Ethiopia announced, turning back to them.

Germany scowled. "So Russia's theory was right. I hate it when he is."

"And—" the former nation continued as if the German hadn't spoken, his complexion completely serious. "My brother has very nearly developed the technology to transmit the virus over great distances to control other people, using drones. Virus-bombs, if you will. When PXT crashed back to earth, they had a golden opportunity land in their hands. From what I've heard, Russia's nuke hit its wings and it fell back down partially intact thanks to some emergency procedures. Now, this piece of tech is one of the most advanced creations that humanity has ever made. Abyssinia wants to use the data and technology stored inside to use in his drones as a GPS of sorts, to land in just the right place at just the right time.

"You can guess what he wants in the trade now: the crash site's location and the remains of the satellite, so they can reverse-engineer it and create their own version of PXT, one that can guide these drones to the most remote places in the world. Of course, gathering information about what you know about the actual virus is just a cover-up. Anything those scientists may have is useless to them. And though Libya is in that truck, I know for a fact that Manuel is not. Abyssinia would never willingly give up such leverage against America."

"Heavens above…" China breathed in shock, a hand over his chest. England found himself short of breath as well.

"I was planning to stop the trade myself. But since you're here, this could work in my favor. I have to reclaim my homeland and my status as a nation once again." He clenched his fists tightly, but looked up to meet Germany in the eye. "I'm sure you know the feeling." He began walking away. "So… make sure the trade doesn't take place. Otherwise, the whole world will fall under Abyssinia's command. This technology is the true reason their soldiers are so obedient. If PXT falls into their hands, then we all will be at my brother's mercy."

Ethiopia sent one last, poignant look to the three European nations, then dashed off silently into the night, leaping up into the trees with a practiced ease and disappearing into the canopy.

A couple moments passed as the information Ethiopia had given them was processed, and then Germany swore to himself and turned around, back to where the trade was taking place.

"I suppose we have an even bigger problem on our hands now." he growled. "Come on. We have to hurry."

* * *

"This could be a scam, America," Romano whispered, folding his arms with a deep scowl. "I don't like this at all. Abyssinia may have already gained the information from the scientists. And we don't know for sure if Libya and New Mexico are in that van with them."

America frowned, torn between taking the risk and going through with the trade the Abyssinian soldier had proposed to them and walking away safely.

"More importantly," he finally murmured. "Why would Abyssinia want the location of PXT 2020? It's worthless now, barely scavengable for parts. They have to have something up their sleeves."

He wasn't going to leave. Not when his son was so close. But he had to think of Romano and his safety as well. His hands twitched, and he clenched them in anger. Dammit! How could he save his son and get out of here without risking Romano's life as well?

"America," said nation pulled himself out of his thoughts as Romano spoke. The Italian's voice was a whisper in the nighttime breeze, barely audible, even to him. "New plan. Do you think your spider gear and strength will be able to hold off one super soldier? I can free the soldiers by force."

America took a breath. Would he be able to hold off a super soldier? He had yet to actually face one in hand-to-hand combat, for whenever they were close by, he and his allies had taken to hiding. And considering it was taking the combined might of all the developed world to take on one third world nation with these soldiers, he couldn't help but worry.

No. He could do this. He was the hero! And heroes never gave up, not when everything they loved was on the line. He could take on this super soldier! Even if the Abyssinian was stronger, he could at least hold him off.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Hopefully we'll be able to get out of here without being captured."

"Did I give you two enough time to reach a decision?" The super soldier drawled from his position several feet away. He seemed to be getting bored. America swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, but he forced his nervousness not to show. He was the hero. He could do this.

"Yes," he announced, his voice coming out strong and steady. "We have had enough time to come to a conclusion."

"Alright," the Abyssinian replied, stepping forwards. "Where is the location of Project X Terra 2020?"

_Protect Romano. Keep him distracted._

"No clue," America answered, clicking the holsters that held the controls for his spider gear open, pulling out the remotes[4]. "Try searching from the depths of Hell."

The Abyssinian twitched, then began laughing, throwing his head back for a moment before sobering just as quickly. "Very funny. I guess this was a waste of time after all. I'm sure I will enjoy your suffering."

"Actually, we would much prefer to eliminate you by force," America shot back, taking off his glasses and discarding them on the ground.

"You really are a stupid westerner," the Abyssinian laughed, dropping into a fighting stance and pulling out his shotel. "I'll show just why I was confident enough to come here on my own. I was by far the top of my military class even before I joined New Abyssinia. I'm all yours if you so insist."

America's eyes flickered to Romano, and he nodded, readying his rifle. Then, America rushed at the Abyssinian, his Spider Gear's arms expanding as he moved to attack. The arms shot forward at the soldier as soon as America was close enough to make a hit, but the Abyssinian only side-stepped the attack, smirking. Frowning, America clicked the switches on his gear and attacked again, but the Abyssinian flipped backwards, landing a shocking seven feet away.

"Really?" The super soldier laughed, standing up again. America risked a glance around him during the brief respite, catching sight of Romano racing towards the truck. Good. "That's it? I honestly expected your technology to be better than that!"

America gritted his teeth as the soldier wasted no time rushing at him, almost too fast for the eye to see. The western nation quickly wrapped the spider's arms around him in a protective barrier, just in time to block the super soldier's shotel, which clanged off of the Spider Gear's titanium covering harmlessly.

But the Abyssinian hardly hesitated in the attack, instantly whipping around and clashing with the gear again, subtly testing it. America let out a harsh intake of breath as his sky blue eyes met the man's jade green ones. Taking the opportunity, he extended the Spider Gear's arms abruptly, hitting the Abyssinian in the stomach and forcing him away slightly.

There was a flash of green against the darker hues of the forest, and America's eyes widened in shock. He flipped a couple gears on his controls and fired a grapple behind him, the cord luckily burying itself in a nearby tree and pulling him away as the grenade the Abyssinian had thrown at him exploded in a flash of blinding light. A particularly sharp piece of rock cut his forehead deeply as he landed on the tree, the grapple holding him a couple feet above the ground.

The Abyssinian soldier was hardly even fazed by the blast, and before America could recover, had rushed towards the tree and kicked the bottom clear in half in an astonishing feat of strength, causing America to discharge the grapple as he crashed into the ground, the air knocked out of him. America gave himself no time to recuperate this time, however, immediately rolling to the right and narrowing dodging the shotel that buried itself in the dirt several inches from his face.

He lashed out with one foot, hitting the Abyssinian square in the stomach with all the strength he could muster (which was a lot, considering how easily he lifted cars). The dark-skinned man only grunted and stumbled backwards, only stunned where a normal man would be dead. But that did buy America the time he needed to jump back to his feet and fire a grapple at another tree and whip away. Once he'd landed vertically on the tree, he let go of one of his controls to pull out the web pistol he'd used back during the trip to the Abyssinian lab, firing the electrically-charged web at the man.

But unlike the mission in New Abyssinia, this Abyssinian was more than ready, his shotel slicing through the webs with ease, their distorted fragments falling harmlessly to the ground in a spray of sparks.

America swore. This guy was good. Much better than the average super soldier, which was saying something. The only person who had ever matched his raw strength was… nobody, really. Even Russia had used mind games to even the field with him when they had fought during the Cold War. This soldier was definitely something; New Abyssinia really had sent one of his best to secure the trade.

America launched himself at the soldier, who lashed out with a kick that sent him to the ground with a grunt, but he recovered enough to draw his Spider Gear in a guard around him before he could be hit.

Then he was in the air, and America realized with a gasp that the Abyssinian had grabbed one of the legs to his gear, lifting him fully off of the ground. Before he could react, he was slammed onto the ground, his head colliding violently with one of the Spider Gear's other legs and stunning him for a moment. The soldier took advantage of his loss of guard, flinging him from side to side, up in the air and down to the ground again, several more times before stopping and throwing him on the ground. A flower of pain blossomed above his right eye, and America grunted, struggling to get back on his feet before the Abyssinian shoved him back down with a knee to the chest and a hand around his throat.

"I'm giving you 20 seconds," he hissed, green eyes blazing emerald in the moonlight. "Tell me where the crash site is before I carve out your heart, let you revive, and do it again. Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…"

America's mind raced as he blinked a sudden burst of blood away from his eye. He had never fought an opponent at his own physical level before. He was in a whole new ballgame with this guy. No doubt he was the best of the best; he had never seen such strength and speed in Abyssinia's troops so far. He yanked his neck away to try and get more air into his lungs, but the Abyssinian only grabbed at his hair, refusing to let go and keeping him onto the ground. Gasping to get at least a trickle of oxygen into his lungs, America tried to turn on his Spider Gear and attack, but was met with no response. Damn. It must've gotten damaged when the Abyssinian had thrown him to the ground somehow.

But by this time America had started to recover from the beating he'd been given. He dropped the Spider Gear's remotes (they were attached to his wrists by a short cord), letting them dangle from his forearms, and grabbed the Abyssinian's wrist to try and pry away the soldier's fingers as the Abyssinian continued to count down disconcertingly. The soldier grunted as he did so, catching onto the challenge as he dropped the hold on his hair to add his other hand to America's neck. Neither he nor the nation gave way as they began to tug on each other in a silent test of strength.

They were equal. America gritted his teeth. He was ready to fight to the bitter end. As long as Romano was able to free his son.

* * *

England's finger twitched on the trigger of his pistol as he ducked under a low-hanging branch, making sure to keep Germany's back in sight, where he was leading them to the trade sight. They had been racing there ever since their shocking encounter with Ethiopia, hoping to be able to stop Romano and America from making a mistake that would cost them the war.

Suddenly, China stopped as they heard a very soft noise off in the distance, too soft to really make out. His camouflage and pitch-black eyes and hair made him almost invisible in the dark forest, and England could just barely see his gaze flickering about, taking in their surroundings before stopping on a position to their right.

"Found them," he whispered, hands curling around his rifle. "30 meters north. _德国，英格兰_, prepare for battle."

Germany nodded curtly, taking his own rifle and pointing it towards the north, where China had directed him. Though definitely not on the level of Switzerland or Finland, he was an acceptable sniper.

England's breath caught in his throat as he peered through the trees, catching sight of a dark-skinned soldier—not Abyssinia, he realized, but a _human_—and America caught in a deadlock against each other. The super soldier had two hands around America's neck and knee on his chest, effectively strangling and pinning him to the ground, while the latter was trying to force the man's hand off his neck. From this distance he couldn't see if the super soldier's attempt was working or not, but his heart leapt into his throat either way out of worry for his former brother and colony.

There was a deafening gunshot as Germany fired, forcing England back into the present. With the soldier so focused on America, Germany's shot had just barely missed its target, just scraping the soldier in the arm. Immediately, the soldier dropped America and dodged the next bullet Germany shot, then the second and the third. By this time the soldier had identified their position and was preparing for a counterattack, even as he dodged Germany's shots.

"Try punching through _this_, freak!" England cried, activating his own MBT[5] as the soldier charged them. The blue shield sprung into being just as the soldier attacked with a momentous punch. The shield wavered for a moment, but didn't break, keeping the three nations safe.

America wasn't out of the game, either. He was only a millisecond behind the Abyssinian, throwing his Spider Gear (was that a new version of it?) on the ground and shooting at him with a regular pistol, which his enemy ducked under and rushed backwards, dodging Germany's bullets.

"_Hit_ him, dammit!" America cried, wiping some blood out from his eye. As he spoke, Germany's sixth shot hit just by chance, striking the super soldier straight through the eye. He wavered on his feet for a heart-stopping moment, then collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

China moved forwards to inspect the body after a moment of silence as England rushed to America's side. The young superpower chuckled airily, wiping more blood off from his forehead.

"Hey, Iggs," he laughed huskily as he massaged his neck, which was beginning to redden. "What're you doin' here?"

"What am _I_ doing here?!" England cried, now letting his worry shift into anger. He slapped the back of America's head, causing the younger nation to flinch and groan. "What do mean, '_what am I doing here?_' We should be asking you that question! What in the world possessed you to go out here on your own?!"

"Abyssinia said—"

"'_Abyssinia said!_' You never listen to the enemy, Alfred! Have I taught you anything about war?! This was a trap, and you very well knew that! I know he claimed to have New Mexico, but for heavens' sake, think things through! Look at yourself; you're injured!"

"America, where is Romano?" Germany asked, pulling out a white handkerchief and handing it to America, ignoring England. The island nation huffed, annoyed that he'd been cut off, but silenced, wanting to hear where Lovino was.

"He went after the prisoners," America rasped, wiping the blood off of his forehead to reveal two deep cuts. England couldn't help but wince to himself. That was going to need several stitches, and it'd be a miracle if it didn't scar. "He should be alright. Abyssinia was so certain one soldier would be able to handle us, he didn't bring any reinforcements with him."

"Looks like you killed the soldier, Germany," China announced, as if on cue. He had ended his inspection of the super soldier's body and stood up as he spoke. "New Abyssinia's not going to be happy about this."

"Abyssinia is going to cry out for vengeance," America nodded. For once in his life, he was somber. "But… it may end well for us. With India and East Asia on our side, we may finally have gained the upper hand."

"Oi, when did you three show up?"

The four nations turned to see Romano leading a small procession of maybe a dozen ragged men and women towards them. They were silent, and seemed to be in awe of the fact that they were finally free. America stood up, his eyes scanning over the small crowd in a mixture of hope and desperation. England frowned, looking over the small group himself. Though he had never actually met New Mexico before, he knew the child was young, and everyone here was over twenty, at least. Ethiopia had been correct. New Mexico was not here.

"Where's Manuel?" America asked, face looking like it was battling between hope and terror. England felt a pang in his chest as he shared a covert glance with China. America had been trying so hard to find his son and keep up with his war duties. Sometimes even they tended to forget how young the boy was. For nations like them, Alfred was practically a child himself.

Romano shook his head. "He's not here. Only Ahmed." He gestured to said nation, who was pale and ragged, no doubt an aftereffect of the war taking on his soil rather than mistreatment. As Romano spoke, England made a mental note to switch to their human names now, as they were in the presence of humans.

"What?" Ahmed shook his head, eyes wide in shock and fear. "Manuel? You mean he isn't with you? I sent him off during the attack on Benghazi; Ezana never found him. He tortured me for information, but I always thought that he had made it to you!"

A cold pit of fear now had settled like a stone into England's stomach. America seemed to experience the same emotion.

There was silence for a couple of moments, then America's eyes darkened, and he clenched his fists. Without a word, he stalked off into the forest, not waiting for anyone to follow him. And maybe that was a good thing, considering the bomb that had just been dropped. England's former brother had quite the temper when emotionally unbalanced in such a way.

New Mexico was not in the hands of either New Abyssinia or America. So where was he?

Wherever he was, it probably wasn't somewhere safe. And he definitely wasn't in the hands of someone who wanted to help him, or the boy would've contacted them already.

And as America stalked off, England swore he could see tears falling down his cheeks.

* * *

[1]- A traditional Ethiopian weapon, a curved short sword

[2]- An Ethiopian word used to address a man

[3]- Bù zuò bù sǐ, which literally translates to "Not do not die." It's a proverb the Chinese use (or as far as I'm told they use it) which means that "If you don't do stupid things you won't end up in tragedy." This is not Google Translate, so hopefully it makes sense to any possible Chinese readers out there.

[4]- Think of them as kind of like the sword handles for the 3DM Gear in Attack on Titan, except lacking the blades (though that would be cool. 3DM Gear in Hetalia. Hmm…).

[5]- Another abbreviation, in part because it's easier this way, and in part because MBT sounds cooler than Mini Barrier technology


	16. The Hidden Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something's off about this chapter, but I can't tell what. Can anyone else see it?

**September 4, 2030**

**Central African Republic—South Sudan Border**

“I hate and love this place at the same time,” Ethiopia muttered to himself, pulling on the last bit of his military uniform. It was a rather old one, and have previously been worn by a soldier who had been killed in the war, but that didn’t really matter, as long as it functioned properly. “How does that even work?”

The east African sighed and looked around what had become his living quarters for the last six years. Of course, he had moved dozens of times during that period, but the tent walls had provided a constant if uncomfortable staple in his life. It was rather large for a private tent, at 11 by 11 feet, and had been painted in camouflage to hide better in the elements. It had actually been shipped here from America over a decade ago, and had made a rather impressive journey before landing in Ethiopia’s hands.

Merille shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Sure, he’d found himself oddly attached to the tent that he also hated at the same time. He hadn’t slept in a proper bed in years, and had yet to eat good food for almost as long. Having to abandon his post and the tent here for more rough quarters as he travelled across the length of New Abyssinia (still he tended to shy away from thoughts of his brother—the sting of betrayal was still clear and the anger even more so) and his occupied countries, seeking recruits for his movement, for the last six months had made him more appreciative of what he had.

Then there had been his interaction with NATO. Merille wasn’t really sure what to think about them. On one hand, they were European, and had proven time and time again throughout history to be quite useless unless they themselves were in direct danger. On the other hand, America was closely allied with them, that meant that it was quite possible for them to intervene in world affairs anyways. Either way, he didn’t find himself trusting them much at the moment, though he did have to admit that their war against New Abyssinia had given him many opportunities to expand his ranks.

Merille frowned to himself—why was he so lost in thought today of all days?—and stepped out of his tent, sparing one last glance at it. Hopefully, if everything went correctly today, he wouldn’t be staying here much longer.

The camp was roaring with life, which made it easy for Merille to lose himself in his citizens’ lives. Even on the run and in a rebel group, he had practically created moving cities with how quickly his people had learned how to set up and take down their belongings. There was a well-off family of six travelling to the meeting later today—the eldest son almost twenty and the youngest daughter twelve. As he pushed his way through the living quarters, he passed into the poorer sections of the ‘neighborhood,’ where crude artisan stands were set up in front of the tents, selling food, weapons, and other supplies.

Merille smiled to himself as his eyes fell on a young family—connecting with them as their nation, he knew that they had been part of the movement and on the run for four and a half years—where a mother and her young children were selling some Cassava[1]. After a moment, he gave in to his guilty conscience, pulled out some metal coins, and bought a bit of the vegetable, which had been baked into a thin cracker. Oh, he was hungry anyways. He always tended to be, as an aftereffect of the war.

Crunching on his new snack, Merille passed through the market area of camp, waving amiably and calling out greetings every once in a while to the people he had come to know during his exile. Some were soldiers he had fought with, others refugees from Kenya, Sudan, and other countries, and yet more were recruits gathered from his trips across North Africa.

But he wasn’t here to socialize much today, though he would have much preferred it. No, today, hopefully, would be one of the most important days of his life.

“Merille! Merille, you’re back!”

Speaking of…

Ethiopia turned around to see a young boy pushing through the crowd, around the age of twelve or thirteen. He rather stood out in the crowd with his lighter skin and eyes, but his clothing was much the same as the other refugees. He rushed towards the older nation, jumping up into his arms happily. Merille grunted for a moment under his weight before setting him back on the ground.

“How are you doing, Manuel?” He asked, ruffling the American state’s hair. New Mexico smiled and held out an old notebook, opening it to reveal that it was full of diagrams and scribbled notes.

“Good, thank you,” Manuel responded, passing him the notebook. Merille took it, flipping through the book here and there, scanning over the diagrams and scribbled notes. “We finally reverse-engineered the samples of the Vipeaira vaccination you got us! We’ve just started making it public!”

“Really?” Merille grinned. His day had just gotten a whole lot better. “Finally, we don’t have to worry about coming into direct contact with the rest of our people!”

“Let’s not forget how it took us two whole years to get this project done, brother dear. You  _ so _ owe me after this.”

Merille stood up, shooting his sister a deadpan look as Rihana and another woman walked up to meet them. The woman, who had been one of Merille’s best spies up until being found out several months ago, held up a hand in greeting.

“It’s good to see you again, Merille,” Layla Bekele[2] bowed briefly as Rihana extended her hand at him, five fingers splayed wide[3], in her own form of greeting. “Was the mission a success? Manuel’s been practically sick with worry.”

Manuel’s face fell, seemingly remembering why Ethiopia had been gone. “Yes, is my Father alright? Abyssinia didn’t hurt him, did he?”

“No,” Merille smiled at the young boy. Both he and Rihana had become quite attached to the young state since they had found him wandering the northern half of Libya a little over a year ago. He was still so naïve and young, and the need to keep the boy safe had helped bring the previously bickering siblings together in the cause to liberate their countries. “Of course not. Francis, Arthur, and Ludwig were already there, so I didn’t have to enter the fighting at all. Ahmed was given back to NATO and your father held his own against the best super soldier Abyssinia could muster. I didn’t see the fight myself, but if NATO came out on top, then that means that we stand a chance against New Abyssinia.”

“Did you tell them about Manuel?” Rihana asked. Merille shook his head.

“I would’ve loved to, but I didn’t have time to wait until they had freed the prisoners—Abyssinia was hot on my trail by then. It was a miracle my team and I managed to draw away the other super soldiers at all. If I had told them about Manuel right then and there, I could have distracted them from fighting that one super soldier and lead the rest right to us.”

“I don’t like it,” Layla sighed. “From the one time I met Alfred, he seemed like a nice man, if a bit soft for a navy SEAL. He didn’t kill me immediately when he broke into the lab, anyways.”

Merille nodded, remembering when Layla had come to him with the news. It was the night she had volunteered to become their spy. A young Ethiopian woman who had studied biomedicine abroad in Germany, she had sympathized heavily with the rebels. When America had broken into the lab, she had aided him, then sent her first message to the Ethiopian rebels. Until she had been found out a scant month ago, she had been sending them information that had kept the rebellion from falling to the Abyssinians, including the information about Abyssinia’s meeting with the Allies.

For if there was one thing Merille and his sisters knew, it was that Ezana was cocky. Sure, he could act like the best and wait patiently, but once he had power, he had no problem flaunting it widely. Thanks to Abyssinia focusing on the war more than his domestic affairs, the rebellion had been able to grow to unforeseen numbers as refugees from the war and other surrounding countries flooded in.

There was a reason, after all, that Merille had taken control of the country after the disaster that was World War II. And it seemed that Ezana had held a grudge over that for decades before acting on it, playing the perfect brother all the while.

Huh. Holding grudges ran in the family, he supposed.

“Ready for the speech today?” Rihana asked, placing a hand on her hip. She eyed the crowds around them. “Nevermind that, actually. We all know you’ll screw it up somehow. Let’s go somewhere more secluded so we can  _ actually  _ talk. When are you due for your speech?”

“In a couple minutes,” Merille replied as the three nations and young woman pushed through the crowd. “We’ve been gathering the commanders from all over for days now, but you already knew that. We’ll be meeting over in the amphitheater. And please try to stay afterwards this time. Everyone wants to at least get a good look at their nations before we attack.”

Rihana shrugged noncommittally, and Merille shrugged, figuring that this was the best he was going to get out of her. Being such public figures was new to all of them, and Rihana still blamed herself for the emergence of Vipeaira. After the war had begun, the existence of the African nations had been revealed to their people, which had been unavoidable since they were living among them. There was no use to hiding it, anyways, and their continued presence among the rebels had kept up their hope and morale. But on the downside, that meant that they had to appear in the public eye much more often, not even mentioning the upheaval that was going to take place when the rest of the world heard about them.

“Will you finally be entering the war?” Manuel asked. “Will I be able to go home?”

Merille looked away from the boy. Of course, Manuel had been unable to return to the United States after they had taken him down here, inside the New Abyssinian Empire’s borders. It wasn’t worth the risk of smuggling him past the guards on the borders, where he could be shot and killed—or worse, actually taken to New Abyssinia. At least he could revive with the first option. And he’d also been a major help with the development of the vaccine for Vipeaira, his knowledge and notes helping to save the lives of those afflicted with the disease.

“Hopefully, kiddo,” Merille finally responded as the approached a clearing, the entrance guarded by four soldiers. The three nations walked by them with confidence while Layla flashed her clearance badge. “Once we establish a secure route.”

Inside the clearing were all of the generals they had assembled for the war, from the squad commanders to even some of the war generals from the Central African Republic and upper class families. They had assembled in neat lines, with several men and women just barely falling into position as they entered.

_ Right on time. _

Layla waved to them as she moved to meet with a group of other scientists, not having the clearance needed to stay with the nations during the actual meeting. Rihana and Manuel followed behind him as they walked up to a hurriedly assembled stage, which stood out quite a bit against the jungle backdrop. Several nations were already there, guarded by a squad of elite rebels, and Ethiopia took the time to nod politely and shake hands with them all, even those who had been his enemies before Abyssinia had taken them over.

First to greet them was Eritrea, his and Somalia’s sister. She wasn’t dressed militarily, reflecting her preference for peace rather than war. She wore a flowing white dress with a golden trim and cross on the bottom of her skirt. She smiled at her two older siblings, shaking all of their hands, especially Manuel’s (she rather doted on the child, loving children herself). Behind her was the Central African Republic, a 5’6 man who had allowed them refuge on the border of his country. Though much too weak to actually participate in the war, he’d helped the rebels on and off by smuggling supplies in from South Africa and Europe. Behind them was Kenya, a rather tall woman who had been one of the few nations that they had been able to rescue before Abyssinia got his hands on them. Wearing her old military uniform, she shook Somalia and Ethiopia’s hands, while nodding to New Mexico.

Somalia placed a hand on New Mexico’s shoulder, steering him to stand next to Eritrea as Ethiopia took his place at the podium. He took a deep breath, casting his eyes about the group of haggard and tired rebels, who had risked life and limb to come here, to the jungles of Central Africa, to aid him. It was kind of funny, he reflect wryly. Just like Europe had with Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, it had taken a threat serious enough to destroy them all to bring Africa together. Now, Somalis stood peacefully next to Ethiopians, Dinka by Nuer[4]. But how long would it last if they won the war?

History suggested that peace wouldn’t last half a decade.

But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. Certainly they’d cross that hurdle when the time came for it. But now, he needed to begin his speech.

“My people!” He began, clenching both hands to the podium of the stage. “I know just as you do that it has been eight very long years since the totalitarian regime of New Abyssinia took over our lands and country! We’ve been forced to flee our homes. Not all of us have made it.” Ezana’s face flashed though his mind, and Ethiopia clenched his teeth. “Some of our friends and family have even defected to the enemy! Some of us lost everything escaping. Some of our brave friends gave their lives to make sure we could escape. Others we had to leave behind.”

Layla’s brother had died to make sure she escaped to the rebellion. Libya had given himself up to the enemy to make sure New Mexico made it out of Benghazi. New Mexico had then died on the Saharan desert, revived, and had almost died again before Ethiopia and Somalia had found him. There were several million more stories like theirs, all throughout camp and the country as a whole.

“But just when we thought all was lost…. NATO and the Arab League declared New Abyssinia a threat. For the first time in decades, we had the first world nations on our side, even if they didn’t know it. Thanks to them distracting New Abyssinia through war, by giving up the lives of their soldiers, we have been able amass an army of our own to take back what we have lost!

“But as I stated earlier, we still have friends and family on the inside, being experimented on to test the newest strains of the Vira Estheman Virus. Our wives! Our children! Our soil! Our technology! All of it is being abused! And I—!” he paused for just a moment, reveling in what was about to say, being perhaps the first nation to openly declare his authority like this. “As your representative of Ethiopia, declare that we will retake what is ours! And other nations stand with me as well. Somalia, Eritrea, Kenya, Sudan, Djibouti! We may not all be here physically, but know that we all stand beside you!

“Before this day, I had campaigned to wait until the Allies reached our boundaries to truly reveal ourselves. But then I realized something. We, as Ethiopians, Sudanese, Kenyans, Somalis, cannot wait for the West to save us once again. We need to pull our own weight in the world! We cannot take it any longer! Over 20 million Africans have died! Almost a fifth of our combined populations!

“So, to you generals, who hold command over all ten million rebels scattered across New Abyssinia, I say one thing: it is time for us to fight!” He raised a fist, and a thundering cheer rose above the men and women. “Let us march! And finally gain the honor that we, as Africans, deserve! And! Let us never forget the day when we took our homeland back!”

The resulting shouts were so loud, that for one amazing moment, Ethiopia could imagine that New Abyssinia heard them, all the way from his office in Addis Ababa.

* * *

  
  


[1]- A common root vegetable grown often in the Democratic Republic of the Congo

[2]- Remember her from Chapter 10? The scientist who saved Alfred? Yep, she was a spy ;P.

[3]- Used in “some African countries” (I couldn’t find anything more specific), with a similar meaning to the middle finger.

[4]- Two major tribes in South Sudan. From the information I gathered from them and the South Sudanese civil war, they do  _ not _ like each other.

World News (June 5, 2030 to February 13, 2031):

1) The Allies are now planning an attack on New Abyssinian soil soon

2) India splits from the Allies and forms a platoon in Egypt

3) New Abyssinia plans to annex Kenya, Sudan, and South Sudan

4) Israel drops out of the war without a reason

5) The Allies have pushed through a minor amount of super soldiers in Egypt and Libya

6) The whole world is watching as Vipeaira and VEV slowly begin to fade away


	17. Boderline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
India—Rana Jindal  
Nepal—Amisha Yadav  
Somalia—Rihana Tesfa  
America—Alfred Jones  
Ethiopia—Merille Tesfa  
New Mexico—Manuel Jones

**February 14, 2031; 11:00**

**Elba National Park, Egypt**

New Abyssinia—Safe: Addis Ababa; Djibouti; Mogadishu In Danger: Asmara, Port Sudan Fallen: Libya; Egypt; Algeria; Tunisia; Mauritania

Front Lines: Elba National Park, Egypt; Sudanese-Libyan Border

Allies—Safe: Washington DC, USA; Moscow, Eurasian Union; New Delhi, India; Beijing, China In Danger: None Fallen: None

"Duck!"

Rana Jindal, also known as the Republic of India, immediately did as his subordinate ordered, throwing his hands over his head as a deafening bang of a bomb sounded overhead, bringing down a truck behind him and sending shrapnel and sand flying everywhere. Several pieces of metal and rock smashed into his body armor, where they would probably leave bruises, though they would heal by morning. As soon as he recovered, however, he grabbed ahold of his rifle once again and fired at the enemy in front of them from his position behind the half-destroyed tank.

Cursing to himself and spitting dirt-laced saliva out of his mouth, India drew back again as the Abyssinian super soldiers returned fire, the bullets ringing off of the metal covering of the tank in a high pitched tone.

India took a deep breath, casting his eyes about the elite soldiers that had joined him on this mission, and then at the enemy fortress ahead of them. Truly, if their enemy weren't firing at him at the moment, he would've marveled at how quickly Abyssinia had been able to build this fortification wall along the Egyptian border. In little more than two and a half years, he'd managed to build a twenty-meter high walled fortress along the border, fully equipped with guns and retreating men from Egypt.

"Rana!"

India looked up to see Nepal duck under the same tank as him, fumbling slightly with the gun in her hands as she did so. His recently acquired territory certainly had many ill feelings towards him, but now certainly wasn't the time to manifest them.

"When's the airstrike coming?" She cried over the noise, brushing several strands of her brown hair out of her similarly-colored eyes. "We're pinned down!"

"They've been caught up by Abyssinia forty-five kilometers from here!" India shouted in reply, both of them covering their ears a millisecond later as their tanks and the guns on the wall began a brief volley at each other. The cannon shots lasted around three minutes before each side stopped to reload and regroup. India risked another look over to the wall to see significant cracks on it and grinned. The mineral bullets were working. "But I don't think we'll need them. We seem to be doing just fine; the heavy bombardment should be fading soon and we'll have our first breach through the wall."

"I see that my minerals are helping quite a bit in the war effort," Amisha responded, and Rana sent her a 'Don't test me' look. She was already here because India couldn't trust her to not start a revolution while he was away, she didn't need to cause more trouble while she was at it. The girl might be shy and quiet on the outside, but like most nations, she was fiery and patriotic on the inside.

"Prepare for the next heavy bombardment!" One of the generals shouted. "The wall will be falling in moments!"

Abruptly, India's phone vibrated, and he groaned, pulling it out while Nepal took the time to shoot at the enemy fortifications. Another bombshell sent a jeep flying into the air as the Abyssinians took up their last stand on the wall. Blowing more sand out of his mouth—after this he was going swimming in the Indus[1] and never coming out—he answered the call, a 15-centimeter hologram of Romano springing up into being, military uniform, rifle and all.

"Ah, so you _still_ haven't broken through the Sudanese border?" He snarked. India rolled his eyes.

"Last I checked I've lasted longer in this war than you," he responded. "I died four weeks ago. When did you, last Tuesday?"

"Not important!" Romano snapped, cheeks coloring even through the hologram, and India smirked. "Just when exactly are you planning to break though? We're still hung up on the Libyan border wall and _you_ are supposed to have the bullets that disintegrate their targets on the spot."

"You called at the right time; we're breaking through as I speak," India responded. "Just keep the Abyssinians busy on your front. Before I go, I've been meaning to ask: have the South Africans made a push through the southern border lately? There's been a drawback of troops from the battle these last couple days."

"No," Romano shook his head. "I'll look into it." There was a shaking on his side of the transmission as a deafening thunder sounded on India's side. "And _there's_ the next wave! You couldn't wait five more minutes, Abyssinia?! I need to go."

"You read my mind. See you soon. Hopefully." India hung up and pocketed his phone as Nepal ducked under the tank again.

"We've broken through!" She cried, face now streaked with dust and dirt from the explosion. "Come on; we need to go!"

No more words were said as the two nations ran out into the field, guns blazing as they rushed through the debris-laced field. All around them, their soldiers followed their example and ran out into the open as well, firing at the New Abyssinians.

A large portion of the border wall had crumbled from the force of India's disintegrating bullets. A large dust cloud had been thrown up into the air as the stone crumbled. A large volley of tank shells thundered over them as they raced to the ruins of the wall. Shots fired in every direction, almost deafening.

A good portion of the super-soldiers on the wall seemed to have survived the fall (no surprise there), and a melee firefight almost immediately sprung up into place as both sides took cover behind large chunks of the ruined wall. India himself took a position close to several other of his soldiers, having lost Nepal in the chaos. He risked a glance over the piece of debris, firing at the enemy before ducking under again. Rana cursed under his breath as he did so. This wasn't going so well; the Abyssinian soldiers were recovering much too quickly for his liking. At this rate, he was probably going to die in the battle before they made any more ground, and that would mean the rest of his men would be endangered without their nation to stand with them.

All of a sudden, though, there was a _chaka-chaka-chaka_ sound, blasting bullets—_normal _bullets, so the new volley must be coming from Abyssinia—overhead. India held back a gasp of surprise and risked a glance over his cover to try and figure out how to get out of this pinch. Even with the super-soldier's strength, he was almost certain that they didn't have this many guns. But the dust cloud was still up in the air, obscuring any long-range sight. Ducking back behind the slab of rock, just barely missing another bullet heading straight for his head, he grabbed his phone and clicked a call into the army's national frequency, trying to reach Nepal.

"I'm pinned down!" He cried. "What's going on? Can you see anything?"

There was static for a moment, then his territory's voice filtered through the comm.

"Yeah!" Her voice was pierced every couple moments by static, but it could be made out if India concentrated. "It's a bit hard to tell, but it seems that we're getting a third party!"

"A _third_ party?!"

"They're Africans, shooting at the Abyssinians!"

"What?!"

India peeked over the stone again, but the cloud was still up, and he could only make out blurry shapes in through the dust. However, the enemy fire coming at him was beginning to lessen considerably. _Was_ there a third party? But who else beside the Allies would be fighting Abyssinia?

"I'm going in," He announced into the phone. "If you see me, cover me!"

"Don't get yourself captured!"

"I'll take that as a 'good luck,' then!"

India took a deep breath, let it out again, and then burst out his hiding spot, firing at the shapes in the cloud at he raced towards them, staying low to the ground to try and prevent himself from getting shot at. A body fell while another dodged the shot, and Rana focused on the one he had missed. He clipped the soldier on the arm, disintegrating the limb's lower half. That gave him the opportunity needed to shoot the soldier down.

Two more shadows came into view, and India quickly turned his rifle on them, just barely missing them as the one crouched to the ground, taking cover, and the other rushed forwards and into sight, almost without concern for his own life. Rana paused once he saw the soldier, who was dressed in old, dented armor and carrying an outdated AK-47.

"Allies! Allies!" The man coming towards him cried in heavily accented English, throwing up an arm. An explosion sounded only a hundred or so meters away, and in unison they threw themselves on the ground and covered their heads to protect themselves from the shrapnel.

Rana could hardly believe it. These men weren't super soldiers! And they looked much too ragged to be a NATO or Eurasian Union member, so…

"Who do you fight for?" Rana cried in English once the bomb had cleared off a bit, rushing over to the man as they met in the rubble. He could tell now that he was in his mid-to-late 30s, probably from East Africa. The man grinned.

"Somalia!" He laughed. India gasped, then returned the grin and the words processed, patting him on the arm as he looked around. Abyssinia was quickly beginning to be overrun as they were attacked on both sides by the Indians and who he now could identify as Somalis. There had to be hundreds of new arrivals here, and India couldn't help but be in awe. Finally, he grabbed his phone and turned it on to Nepal's frequency.

"Amisha!" He called, laughing as he did so. "Don't shoot the third party! They're Somali rebels! They're on our side!"

* * *

**February 14, 2031; 22:00**

**8 Miles South of the Sudanese Border**

For rebels, the Somalis seemed to have pretty high morals and a good supply line.

That was easy to see as India waited from his place in an old military tent. He sat near the entrance, flap open, as a large fire blazed in the center of camp. Nepal watched beside him, the two of them still in their military uniforms, though they had been switched for a cleaner set from the ratty ones they'd been wearing while fighting. The Somali forces had all relaxed after a long day of near-constant fighting, and had set up camp in a small valley around eight miles inside the Sudanese border. India and Nepal's own army was only a couple hundred meters away, and both camps were celebrating the breakthrough into Sudan.

The Somalis had gathered around the fire, men and women alike, and had started singing a song. A man and a woman—husband and wife, India realized, since they were standing so closely[2]—had started dancing together as the other soldiers played music and sang, only slightly off tune. One had taken an Oud[3] and was strumming it almost professionally, and a few others drummed on old percussion instruments.

"I wonder what they're singing," Nepal wondered off-handedly. India shrugged, not knowing the Somali dialect needed in order to translate. Still, the two nations found themselves entranced as they listened to this song, sung by a people who had gone through so much. As they listened, the first verse began.

"Dulkayaga, dulkayaga! Waw dimanaynaa, dulkayaga! Dulkayaga, dulkayaga!"

Just as the first line ended, a young woman in a light green and blue Dirac[4] stepped into the tent, flanked by two protective-looking soldiers. The woman smiled warmly at them, and dismissed the two soldiers with a wave of her hand and sat down on the tarp-covered floor.

"Namaste, Somalia," India greeted, taking a moment to bow his head to her. Somalia's eyes twinkled as she returned the motion.

"Fiid wanaagsan[5], India, Nepal," she responded. "It's been a good day for the both of us, I presume. How are your countries?"

"I am only a territory to India now," Nepal replied curtly before India could respond. He sent her a sidelong look, but the younger nation ignored him and India himself dropped the matter quickly.

"And my people are doing well, both economically and in the war effort," Rana continued as best he could. "As I'm sure you have seen, we've discovered a new mineral that's capable of disintegrating whatever it hits at a high velocity. It's helped even out the playing field, as you can see. And your people."

Somalia's features darkened. "Most my people are still suffering in Abyssinia's hands. Several of them we fought here today as super soldiers. For those of us who escaped, it's been tough going, but Chad and Central Africa have been smuggling supplies to us from South Africa and the black market."

India blinked. "Really?"

"Yes," Somalia responded. "It was a surprise to us as well, but a welcome one. You see, back when Abyssinia first came to power almost eight years ago, it was only Ethiopia who was able to escape, and only because Abyssinia isn't half as strong on the inside as he is on the outside. It's really how we were able to survive at all, actually. Ethiopia was the one who started the rebellion. I managed to escape and help out Eritrea when she was annexed, but Djibouti is still in his grasp. As you can probably infer, finding recruits hasn't been hard."

"We're glad to hear that you're safe," Nepal put in. "After we lost contact with Abyssinia, we feared the worst."

"Well, we live. And ready to fight, as you see. This victory today has been a great one for us. We've been fighting up the coast of the Red Sea for close to a month now."

India nodded. "Your people, certainly, are celebrating still. What are they singing?"

"It's an old freedom song, back during my first republic years in the 1960s." Somalia laughed, but there was a glimmer of longing and pride in her voice as well. "The end of first verse—the one we're hearing right now—goes 'For it we have been born, And now we have the courage. Evil and difficulties we will not accept for our own Land. Not all agree with the many, For some are like the dumb, And some are like the deaf. We will die For our own Land.'"

Nepal nodded to herself, humming along as the chorus launched into its second run.

"It's appropriate," India commented. Somalia nodded in agreement.

"After such a long period of civil war and poverty, it's a wonderful feeling to have my people united and strong."

"Are there any other rebel groups? And how many of you are there?"

"Oh, several. You'd be surprised how many have come to join our cause, even if it's as sleeper agents waiting to be called. I have perhaps seven hundred thousand here and in the immediate area. Ethiopia's brought a little over a million to help out NATO in Libya. Kenya has around two hundred thousand down in Tanzania."

India balked and Nepal gasped.

"That much?" She exclaimed. Somalia grinned.

"What, do you really think Abyssinia going through this war is making him popular on the home front? Or were the brainwashed super soldiers not enough of a clue? My brother came into power with an elite force with almost no popular support. Of course most of the population was a little ticked off. When Ethiopia came to them, hardly anyone said no and even fewer reported us."

Nepal nodded, but India frowned.

"You said when _Ethiopia_ came to see them. What did you mean by that?"

Somalia's upbeat expression fell, and India's stomach dropped.

"You have to understand," she murmured. "That we were going to be with the same amount of people for a long time. And we had no real mortal leaders as well as low morale. It was best, really, that we revealed the secret of the nations to our people."

Nepal and India stared.

* * *

**February 17, 2031**

**Mellit, Sudan**

"So, we'll be pushing through the heartland of Sudan for the next couple of weeks," Alfred announced, pointing at the location on the digital map they had put up for the meeting. "Most of our forces will push down to Al Fashir, to the southwest. It will be critical that we take the city before continuing onwards; not only does it have access to the B26 highway, but it's a major source of water in the area. We take that, we force New Abyssinia to look elsewhere for supplies. As for you, Ethiopia, you'll be taking your force and a few divisions of the Allied armies east to Umm Badr, where we can flank them once we've captured Al Fashir and moved eastwards ourselves. From there we'll move for En Nahud and then to the border of South Sudan, cutting the Abyssinian forces in two. Any major concerns?"

The nations crowded around the table gave no objections, but Alfred looked over each of them one by one for confirmation anyways. Venezuela looked determined and willing to go the extra mile as always, South Korea was examining the map closely, and Romano was starting to look a bit bored. Ethiopia, their newest addition, was nodding along seriously.

"Then we'll move out in the morning?" Venezuela asked. America nodded.

"Tomorrow morning, 0600 sharp."

Venezuela nodded, and raising her hand in farewell, pulled out her phone and called someone, most likely her commanders, to relay the orders. Romano muttered something related to logistics under his breath, then left the tent, probably to call Veneziano. America himself ducked out of the tent and entered into the sweltering heat of the Sudanese afternoon. They would need to hurry if they wanted to get their allies out by 0600 tomorrow; moving several million men was always a large operation no matter what the circumstances.

Several days had passed since India had managed to break through the Sudanese border, and things had been extremely hectic ever since. With the Allied powers learning of the extent of the African rebels' manpower and their subsequent breakthrough into Sudan, the last three days had been a whirlwind of fierce fighting, marching, and planning. Ethiopia himself had joined them two days ago.

"America! Do you have a few minutes to spare?"

Alfred turned around to see Ethiopia striding towards him.

"If it's important enough," he replied after a moment's hesitation. "What's up, man?"

"I have someone with my troops who you must meet," the African declared seriously. "It's a matter of upmost importance. I've been trying to get you for a couple days, now, but we haven't crossed paths until today."

America blinked.

"Yeah, sure," he shrugged. "Who is it?"

"You'll see." The African rebel turned, beckoning him to follow. Together, the duo strode towards the Ethiopian side of the camp. The military bases of the Allies had always been huge, but with the addition of the rebels, who had brought a mass of civilians in tow, it had basically become a moving city. As America strode just behind Ethiopia, he watched as they passed by the first rebels in Ethiopia's army. Some of them straightened as they walked past, whispering to their companions as they watched the two nations pass in awe. Others outright waved, which America returned awkwardly and Ethiopia energetically.

These people really did know who their personification was. And they seemed to _like_ him. The realization comforted America a little bit. In the last few days the revelation of the nations by the rebels had spread like wildfire around the world. Thankfully, the Allies were distracted by the war and America, by proxy, had been affected minimally as of yet. Yet he'd worried, both for his children and himself. He knew what it was like to be the President. Now his and the states' safety would be in danger as well. Yet seeing Ethiopia's people treating him so well helped him hope that this change wouldn't be life-destroying.

"Izīhi ga! [6]" Said nation called out in Amharic, drawing America out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a jeep swinging over to meet them. The man at the helm, an African who looked to be in his mid-thirties, saluted to the two as Ethiopia climbed into the passenger seat and motioned for America to get in. The New World nation jumped into the back, and then they were off again, this time at a much faster pace.

"Sorry for the long trip," Ethiopia apologized as they drove past a small clearing, where a couple middle-aged women were distributing soup to some infantry soldiers. "The person I want you to meet is over on the civilian side of camp."

America shrugged. "At this rate, I just want to see who it is that I'm supposed to meet."

Ethiopia shot him a knowing smile, then spoke to their driver in Amharic, who nodded easily and turned the jeep down one of the many sandy roads that organized the camp. A group of children playing some form of soccer stopped in their game as they drove by. One preteen girl's eyes lit up in recognition, and she exclaimed something in her native tongue, which brought the other kids into a flurry of activity. They shouted at them, and a couple even chased the jeep for a few minutes before falling behind. Ethiopia shouted something at them jovially as they turned a corner and the kids fell out of sight.

"They really love you, don't they?" America commented.

"Yes, I suppose they do," Ethiopia replied as the jeep slowed to a stop by some old trucks and a large tent. He turned on the young superpower, brown eyes flashing. "I'm sure your people will feel the same when they meet you, America."

America didn't ask how Ethiopia could sense his nervousness. When it came to the more ancient nations (and Ethiopia had existed since at least 500 B.C.), he'd learned that some things they just knew. But, then again, there were a lot of things they didn't know, too.

Like England and his cooking.

Ethiopia hopped off the jeep, and America followed, waving goodbye to their driver as he sped off once again. Looking towards their destination, he spotted a group of men and women in white lab coats conversing near one of the trucks. Ethiopia seemed to have followed his line of sight, for his eyes landed on the group as well.

"Fräulein Bekele! Ich habe jemanden, den du gerne treffen würdest[7]!" He called out in German, causing America to blink in surprise. Who in Ethiopia would know German, of all languages? But the name sounded familiar…

One of the scientists, a young woman in her mid-twenties, looked up to see them. Her eyes widened once they landed on Alfred, who in turn froze as it all clicked together.

Layla Bekele. The young Ethiopian scientist who had saved him that day in the Abyssinian jungle. She was here.

"Layla?!" Alfred exclaimed, shocked.

"Alfred?! Ich kann dich endlich offiziell treffen[8]!" The scientist exclaimed in German, just as surprised to see him there.

"Du bist ein Rebell?" He just couldn't believe that she had joined the rebels, especially after working for the Abyssinian government. How had she managed to escape?

"Ich habe mich nach dieser Begegnung mit dir verbunden. Es war ein Weckruf." Layla laughed, delighted and caught a bit off guard. "Was bringt dich hierher?"

"Weißt du was," Ethiopia put in, shooting her a knowing look and tilting his head to indicate that they were heading towards the tent. America blinked, confused. If they weren't here to meet Layla, then who exactly was this mystery person?

"Wir sind nicht hier, um sie zu treffen?" He questioned. Ethiopia shook his head and waved a farewell to Layla, who smiled before heading back to her companions.

"Nien," he replied, excitement tinging his voice as he opened the flap to the tent. America ducked inside, taking in the interior of the temporary shelter.

Several white folding tables lined the center of the tent, supporting several microscopes and laptops. A cluster of scientists were grouped around one of the microscopes, talking rapidly in Amharic as they worked. Alfred's eyes, however, were drawn to a particularly young-looking scientist, with paler skin than his companions and lighter brown hair. The others seemed to defer to him, waiting for his approval before they moved one with the next phase of whatever they were doing.

No. No way.

"Manuel?" He whispered, voice barely above a murmur. Nevertheless, New Mexico seemed to hear his voice, because he looked up from where he'd been conversing with a scientist and towards the newcomers. Their eyes locked, and for a second that seemed an eternity, they just stared at each other.

"_Daddy!_" Manuel howled, dropping all previous pretenses of maturity. He shoved the scientist he'd been speaking to out of the way to rush at him, and in two long strides Alfred had caught him in his arms, swinging him up and about in a bone-crushing hug.

It didn't matter that there were a dozen other people in the room. It didn't matter that Ethiopia was right behind him. The war didn't matter reputation didn't matter nothing mattered except that Manuel was _safe_ and here and sobbing into his arms.

And maybe Alfred shed a couple tears as well.

His legs felt as if they were going to give out, so Alfred knelt, feeling Manuel's body shake as he clutched at Alfred's uniform. Alfred himself said nothing, content to run his hands through his son's hair and just _be_ with him.

"How did you get here?" He murmured after some time had passed. Manuel sniffed and made to pull away, but Alfred just held him tighter, refusing to let go in fear that he'd just disappear again.

"Merille and Rihana found me," Manuel replied. "Wandering in the desert. I've been here ever since."

"Oh, thank God."

"I'm afraid you may have to fight Rihana and Lebina in order to get him back," Merille commented with a smile. Alfred looked up, having forgotten that he was there. "They've fallen quite hard for him, I'm afraid."

"Thank you," Alfred replied sincerely, voice thick with emotion as he locked eyes with the African nation. "I don't know how I could ever repay you."

"Manuel's already taken care of that. He's headed our research divisions. Thanks to him we were able to replicate and reproduce your Vipeaira vaccine. Even though we couldn't smuggle him across the border, he's been very willing to aid our cause. A lot of my people owe him their lives. You should be very, very proud of him."

Alfred nodded, clutching at Manuel even tighter. He was.

Oh, he was.

* * *

[1]- A major river in India

[2]- Most Somalis are Muslim. While their nations do not usually affiliate with one religion (done purely so that I can avoid a religious war in the comments over whether America is Puritan or Lutheran or something like that), I do my best to represent their people accurately.

[3]- An instrument shaped like a small, circular guitar that makes a sound that's in between that of a harp and ukulele. It's common in the Middle East, North Africa, and Somalia.

[4]- A traditional loose-fitting Somali dress

[5]- Good Evening in Somali

[6]- እዚህ ጋ! or "Over here!" in English

[7]- "Miss Bekele! I have someone you would like to meet!"

[8]- "I finally get to formally meet you!"

"You're a rebel?"

"I joined after that encounter with you. It was a wake-up call." … "What brings you here?"

"You know what."

"We aren't here to meet her?"

"No."

World News (September 4, 2030 to February 1, 2031):

1) India breaks through a heavily fortified wall on the Egyptian-Sudanese border

2) The American-Italian invasion of Sudan through Libya failed

3) There have been a growing number of ransomware attacks infecting systems in India for some reason. Mostly in areas near Nepal. It seems to be targeting miners.

4) Another ransomware attack hits Brazil for unknown reasons.

5) More than ten million Ethiopian rebels have linked up with the Allies and have pushed through Sudan.

6) New Abyssinia is caught by surprise, and accuses Chad and Central African Republic of aiding them.

7) Chad and Central Africa join the Allied Powers

8) 700,000 Somali troops have come to India's aid on the Red Sea

9) The Ethiopian rebels claim to be led by the "personification" of their country, a man named Merille Tesfa

10) Namibia and Botswana declare their allegiance to New Abyssinia and begin harboring Abyssinians in their countries

11) Tanzanian forces have joined up with the Somalian forces against New Abyssinia

12) The rumored existence of "personifications" has been confirmed. These "nations" are slowly beginning to make public appearances


	18. Hybrid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
China—Wang Yao  
Ethiopia—Merille Tesfa  
New Abyssinia—Ezana Tesfa  
Somalia—Rihana Tesfa  
Djibouti—Amir Miyir/Rochet Bonnefoy  
Eritrea—Lebina Tesfa

**1700 Hours; December 17, 2032**

**Addis Ababa, New Abyssinia**

New Abyssinia—Safe: N/A In Danger: N/A Fallen: Sudan; Kenya; Somalia; Eritrea

Front Lines: Addis Ababa, New Abyssinia

Allies—Safe: United States; China; Eurasian Union; European Union; Egypt; Venezuela In Danger: N/A Fallen: N/A

The scene around him was familiar.

Yao sighed as steered his motorcycle through the decimated streets of Addis Ababa, expertly managing to weave through the rubble and do his best to stay on course to his destination. Entire swathes of city blocks had been destroyed over the last couple of weeks as the Allies hunted down the last remnants of New Abyssinia's government and leaders. Abyssinia certainly wasn't making it easy, either. At this point, he had resorted to guerrilla tactics, forcing the Allies to fight street to street, house to house, and room to room. It'd been tedious work, and they'd been at it for the last five weeks.

It was achingly familiar. Yao, over the last few days, when exhaustion threatened to overtake him, kept on having to remind himself he was in Addis Ababa, not Changchun, or Raqqa, or Kaifeng[1]. He was honestly getting too old for this; the battles were beginning to blend together, each more serious and more damaging than in the last. Over and over, history would repeat itself. Who knew what disasters the future held?

America didn't understand. Not really. He hadn't lived a tenth of Yao's five thousand years, hadn't seen the death and lost the children he had. Sometimes that naïvety he and his states held was inspiring—that was, after all, what had prompted him to join the war in the first place. He had looked into Utah's eyes, and then America's, and seen their hope, their optimism, their determination to do what they were so _sure_ was right. It had called to him, the desire to be close enough to perhaps glean a sliver of that innocence from their mere presence.

But other times, like now, it grated. In Yao's experience, foolishness and naïvety went hand in hand, and World War III was certainly no exception. America thought that all this would end when Abyssinia was captured? Pheh. The African had ten times the experience the young superpower did. Yao was certain that whatever he was doing, he was doing it for a reason.

Which had brought him to his current situation. America and his allies wouldn't be happy once they heard what he was doing, if anything they would be furious, but Yao honestly didn't care, and neither did his government. They would get the influence they needed in helping rebuild Africa, through trade deals and company mergers. No, Yao was out here because he, on some level, understood exactly what a certain rebel was going through. Understood on a level only beings who had existed for the millenia they had could.

He slowed down as his GPS beeped. Double-checking it, he nodded to himself and stopped completely, dismounting and walking over to the ruins of a house and the man standing over it, back to him.

To be fair, Merille Tesfa was still half his age, but with so many of his peers now gone Yao would take what he could get.

By the gods, he was _old_. Too old for this.

"You're supposed to be back at base, Merille," he called out, lax as the newly returned nation turned towards him in surprise, then winced at the sudden disturbance of his torso. Yao noted the movement with approval. Taking back a country was difficult: mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. To his credit, Merille was honestly taking it better than Yao had expected.

"You're supposed to be back in Beijing," Merille replied slowly, eyes darting from a piece of glass he held in his hand, and then to the Yao's helmet as he took it off and let it dangle from his right hand by its straps.

"Eh," Yao shrugged, stepping towards him and kicking some rubble out of the way as he did so. "Figured I might as well be here for the peace conference. Make sure I get my fair share out of it. You know the deal."

Merille frowned, not saying anything in reply. He turned his head slightly back to the house. Yao idly wondered whether it was his house, or a leader's, or perhaps a favored citizen's. In the end, it didn't matter, and he decided enough was enough. It was time to cut to the chase.

"My men have caught sight of your brother."

Merille froze, then straightened, looking up at Yao in a mixture of excitement and fear. "What?" He asked. "Have you caught him?"

"I haven't told NATO yet," Yao elaborated. "He's your brother. If you take my motorcycle, you should be able to catch him. Head east towards Menagesha. Or, if you want, we can call America and get him to encircle the area. It'd be messy, but we'd be able to capture him."

Merille blinked in surprise. He was caught off guard by this request, and Yao could relate to that, in all honesty. For a moment, he was back in time again, standing over Baekje's[2] corpse and watching 14-year-old Yamato—no, Japan—race to escape with what remained of his life and his fleet, tears streaming down his cheeks as he was forced to leave his brother behind without so much as a goodbye.

In that moment, so young and drunk off being a victor after many years of war, he'd expected to feel elated at such a decisive victory. Instead all he'd felt was sorrow as he'd held Baekje's corpse in his shaking hands, remembering how, long ago, he'd raised him, Silla, Goguryeo, and Yamato[3] as his own. Years and years later, in Nanking[4], Japan had whispered to him, as his buildings burned and people massacred, how this was only the beginning of the revenge he planned to take on China for cutting Baekje's life short so soon and so brutally.

Yao did not want that fate to befall Merille and his siblings no more than it already had. He wanted this so desperately it hurt, made him want to take Merille by the shoulders and scream "_What are you doing?! He is your brother!"_.

But the people came first. It left Yao with a sour taste in his mouth. The people _always _came first. So he said nothing of that.

"I know what it's like to lose a brother," he muttered, just loud enough for the rebelling nation to hear. "Whether he gets away or is captured doesn't really matter right now. It's time for you two to say your goodbyes."

Merille let out a long, shuddering breath, a thinking breath.

He dropped the shard of glass on the ground and strode away from the ruins of his house. Sending a grateful smile to Yao, he spotted the offered motorcycle nearby and mounted it. In a moment, he was off, heading due east to Menagesha National Forest.

To his credit, he didn't look back.

* * *

**1805 Hours; December 17, 2032**

**Menagesha National Forest, Ethiopia**

Evening had fallen by the time Merille crossed into the forest.

It'd been quite easy, actually, to trace his brother's path as he rode through the forest. After all, it was the same route they took when they hiked through the forest when on vacation, or when they just needed a moment to be away from everything.

Memories swirled in Merille's mind as his motorcycle blared through the forest, throwing up leaves in its wake. Menagesha had once been a beautiful tourist spot in his country, with thin, tall trees and sloping hills. But in the past decade that had changed drastically. New Abyssinia had flattened large swathes of the forest, replacing it with farms and warehouses to fuel the war effort. Nearly everything was deserted or destroyed as the Abyssinians fled the advancing Allied forces, save for the fresh tracks of the jeep that Merille had been following since coming up to the forest.

Merille looked up, watching the trees as he passed into one of the last remaining forested plots, the canopy blocking out the last of the golden rays of the sun as it settled down for another night. Silently, he fished out his night vision glasses and put them on as he came to a fork in the path.

Merille slowed his motorcycle to a stop, dismounting it and walking it off the path he'd been driving on. He'd have to go out on foot from here. Any closer and the sounds of the battle in Addis Ababa wouldn't cover the roar of his engine. Disposing of the vehicle as best he could, Merille took his rifle out of its place on his back, bringing it into both hands and checking to make sure that it was loaded, then adjusting his shotel, sheathed on his hip.

The silence in the forest was deafening, and Merille's heart thudded in his chest as he walked down the road, following the jeep tracks closely but keeping to the shadows. This was most definitely not the first time he'd found himself battling his brother—many times they had represented opposing kingdoms and tribes—but this was the first time it was on such a large scale. Even his conflicts with Eritrea and Somalia hardly held a candle to this World War.

World War. He still could hardly believe it. His country had served as the catalyst for World War III. All because of New Abyssinia.

A dark shape loomed in the darkness, drawing Merille out of his thoughts. A couple steps closer revealed it to be two lone warehouses, their gray, metallic walls glinting the finals cries of the sun a myriad of orange, red, and yellow.

There! Merille could just make out several moving figures in the shadows. Crouching down, he watched them as they rushed in and out of the second warehouse, holding wooden crates, most likely filled with supplies. They were trying to escape!

A man in his early thirties, leaning on the jeep and supervising the work, caught Merille's gaze first, and he scowled. Every person in Africa knew that man. Yessuf Biruh Abebe[5]… the human leader of New Abyssinia. Whether he was really in charge or just a puppet of New Abyssinia's, Merille didn't know, but it was a safe assumption to go in assuming the man was very dangerous. And there. His eyes flickered over to the right. A man strode out into his line of sight, sporting full military gear. Even though his hair had been shaved to a buzz cut, and he held himself with the air of a king, Merille could easily recognize his elder brother.

New Abyssinia hadn't gotten off from the war scot-free, however. His left arm was in a sling, and there was definite bruising along his left eye. More wounds were no doubt concealed beneath the uniform, and it'd most likely be worse if Merille hadn't been sharing part of the burden.

Merille let out a sigh, fingering his gun.

He was _so_ going to regret this.

"Ezana!" He called out, standing and striding much more confidently than he felt into the clearing. The men froze, most of them pulling out their guns and training them on him.

Yessuf began to walk forwards, but Ezana held out his free arm, motioning for him to stand back. His weary eyes locked with Merille's, and he struggled to hold his brother's gaze. Ezana had always been the more intimidating out of the four siblings.

"Merille," Ezana inclined his head. "I promised myself long ago that I would destroy you. I failed during the coup. Yet here you are, walking into my arms."

Merille did his best to remain nonchalant over the situation. "I'll revive," he shrugged. "I did before and I definitely will now." He let out a sigh. "We're so different, Ezana. I can't help but wonder how things became like this. We may share the same blood, but you are no longer the man I grew up beside and fought together with. Your reign of terror has ended!"

Ezana rolled his shoulders, loosening. They both knew each other much too well. They both knew that this was Merille's way of saying goodbye, just as said nation knew that his brother understood his intentions. Even now, when Merille could figure so little from Ezana's actions, he could at least infer that.

"You really think that stopping the experiments and taking my land will end me?" Ezana chuckled. "You fell into my little sanctum. But I suppose you would call it a trap."

Merille's blood ran cold, but he still stood tall. He had come here knowing that he was going to get killed. Whether Ezana got caught or not depended on whether the Allies could find this convoy.

Merille had just come to say goodbye to the brother who he had grown up alongside, and who in turn helped him raise their sisters.

"And a new age shall rise!" New Abyssinia exclaimed, drawing Ethiopia back out of his thoughts. "The modern world has come to an end!" He sighed forlornly. "Of course it had to come too soon. I wasn't ready. The world certainly isn't ready. You will have to prepare our people—and humanity—for evolution when I am gone."

"I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about." Ethiopia frowned deeply. What was his brother going on about?

"Of course you do! Did you really think I expected to win this war?!" New Abyssinia exclaimed, laughing in a half crazed manner and running his free hand through his hair. "No! Of course not! I'm no European, brother! My fate was sealed when NATO declared war on me. I know when I am beaten."

"And yet you fall as Germany did."

"No! I—" New Abyssinia, suddenly looking very tired and frustrated, cut himself off. He turned away, waving a hand at his men. "Nevermind. You'll understand eventually." He nodded to Yessuf. "Kill him."

Yessuf flashed a harsh grin, pulling out a pistol and pointing it at Ethiopia's head. Ethiopia sighed, gazing at his brother as he strove to commit every part of that turned back to memory.

Then there was a symphony of gunshots and a flash of pain, and everything went black.

* * *

**December 18, 2032**

**Addis Ababa, Occupied Territory**

"There."

Eritrea placed a piece of paper on the table, looking up at the occupants of the room.

"New Abyssinia has officially surrendered," she continued, tone serious but with a joyful tinge to it, matching the celebrations that were currently taking place across the city and the world. "We will continue to hunt for the nation himself and his leader, but World War III is officially over."

There was a unanimous sigh of relief across the room. Eurasia smiled softly to himself as India slumped in his seat. Romano exclaimed several praises to God in Italian while Veneziano let out a cry and embraced Germany.

America simply smiled to himself. Finally, this was all over.

"Ethiopia is still missing," Somalia reminded the group of nations, dampening the mood somewhat. The Allied powers, African rebels, and countries occupied by New Abyssinia had all gathered in Addis Ababa to finalize the treaty to end World War III. Yet some nations were still absent from this historic occasion.

Ethiopia and New Abyssinia were two glaring examples, both lost in the chaos of battle. Less obvious was China, who'd been expelled from the peace deal after admitting to sending Ethiopia after his brother alone and not informing the Allies of the war criminals' position. Venezuela had also abruptly been forced to return to her own country when a strange fog had sprung up over the South American continent several days earlier, sending the entire Western Hemisphere into a panic.

(America may have ignored a call from his boss to return home to attend the peace conference, but that was neither here nor there).

"Well, can I assume we are agreed when I move to give the African rebels control of their countries once again?" Romano spoke up after a couple minutes.

"I'm all for it," England put in. "As long as they accept influence from us for a couple of years to come. Not too long; enough time to make sure we don't have a repeat of this whole war again."

Somalia's eyes flashed, but she nodded stiffly.

"And, of course, we can guarantee the destruction of VEV once we gain enough control of the countryside," Egypt put in from his spot next to India.

"_That_ isn't a question," Eritrea agreed.

"Then I suppose we'll leave it to our governments to work out the particulars of the treaty," Germany added. "I would like to change the subject for a short while. England," he turned to the island nation. "What is this 'Hybrid Energy' we've been hearing so much about lately?"

All eyes turned to the blond. England sighed, long and hard, before speaking.

"The catalyst for the end of the modern era," he declared solemnly. America stiffened. "It was the source of energy for the MBT, as some of you may have figured out by now. I discovered it in my home shortly after PXT 2020 was launched for the first time. It was kept top secret for a long time until we understood it better."

"So you're saying that this hybrid energy is some new source of fuel?" India questioned.

"A clean source of energy," England clarified. "No carbon or other toxic emissions of any kind are formed when it is harnessed. It's mined, like oil and coal, yet we've never even heard of it up until a decade ago. Not only that, but Hybrid Energy deposits around the world have been rising sharply, especially in New Abyssinia's old territory. We have no idea how. It was no doubt how he was able to survive taking us all on at once while embargoing the rest of the world."

"Well, _that's_ comforting," Romano muttered.

"I've heard that Venezuela's started using it for transportation," Veneziano confessed. Romano sent his brother a look, no doubt annoyed that he hadn't been informed, but it lacked the sharp edge it usually held, and it was soon gone. The war had changed Romano a lot, America noted to himself. The personification of South Italy was less judgmental and rude, and had become more analytical instead.

"No wonder I'm seeing strange vehicles in the Eurasian Union," America muttered, making sure it was loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. Russia sent his longtime rival a look, and America just grinned at him in response.

Still, this whole Hybrid Energy was honestly sort of worrying. America couldn't help but feel a little frustrated with England even as he grinned. He felt completely behind on this scientific revolution, having no such advances in his own country. He'd have to fix that, and soon, if he wanted to retain his status as a superpower.

"More and more nations are developing this new energy," England was musing as America thought. "New machines, new technology, revolutionary advances discovered practically every other week. The prime question going forwards is—and I'm sure you all agree—where is Hybrid Energy even coming from?"

* * *

**December 19, 2032**

**Addis Ababa, Occupied Territory**

_Beep. Beep. Beep_.

The first thing he was aware of was the beeping.

Then came the music. It was distant and muffled, but he could tell that it was a jolly tune with a quick beat and chipper tone. He could not place the exact type of instrument was playing it, but it sounded nice, so, for a time, he was content to listen.

Sometime later the sensation of sheets being wrapped around him flooded his body. Following that, slowly, ever so slowly, feeling came to his body itself. First it was his breathing and heartbeat, both distractingly out of rhythm with the music. Then came his arms and legs, all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

And after what felt like an eternity, Ethiopia found the strength to open his eyes.

A gray ceiling loomed above him. He blinked several more times, mentally contrasting it with the hues of black, brown, and green of the forest had displayed his last memories. Grunting to himself, he sat up slightly. It took nearly all of his strength to do so, and a tugging on his arm prompted him to look down to see an IV drip fastened there. The music—the instrument playing was a violin, he realized—continued to waft through the room, now with a distinguished source from the area outside a closed door.

"Glad to have you back in the land of the living, brother dear."

Merille blinked, turning to see Rihana striding up towards him. She seemed haggard and tired, but there also was a certain joy in her eyes, a sight he had not seen in his sister for centuries, long before the Europeans had arrived in their land.

But that just brought up even more questions. Why in the world was Rihana here, and not celebrating the end of the war with her people?

"Somalia..." he finally murmured, watching her closely. "I don't understand. Why did you…?" He trailed off, not certain how to phrase the question without seeming to be insensitive.

But his sister seemed to understand nonetheless. She looked at him, tired and worn.

"Have you ever been in a situation," she sighed. "Where you feel as if you are incapable of doing something alone?"

His mind flew back to the entire duration of the war. Abyssinia's betrayal, his own temporary death, the struggle to stay alive as his country and people were tortured and torn apart. Then it went back even further, to the eve of World War II and the sight of Romano sticking a loaded pistol at his head[6].

"I visited the labs. While you were recovering." The joyous light in Rihana's eyes flickered away at the memory, and she ran a hand over her face, looking very tired. "It's almost like Germany's concentration camps. I don't even want to describe them to you."

"Don't," Ethiopia murmured, waving her off weakly. He had felt the terror and pain his people had gone through for years. For now, his memory was more than enough.

"I can't imagine what they did to you and your people," Rihana pressed on. She sat down in a chair placed next to the bed, eyes staring into the recent past and the horrors that had plagued them during the war. "People are rounded up, usually the young men of every city, and subjected to horrifying experiments. Those who resisted and didn't make it to us were captured and executed. The rest were turned into completely obedient super soldiers.

"You. Me. Djibouti. Eritrea. We all suffered the most during the campaign. We don't know how to recover the super soldier's free will. Our cities are devastated. Our farms have long ago fallen fallow. We won't be able to survive without heavy foreign help these next few years. And you know how well that worked out for Germany."

Merille sighed, a sense of despair falling over him. The rebels had all known long ago that at least some loss of independence would probably be the price they paid to take back control of the country and free their people. It was a price he had been and was still willing to pay. But the task of simply continuing to stay sovereign in the years to come was so daunting that he couldn't help but hesitate for a moment. Germany had been split into two nations and stuck in the middle of the Cold War after World War II. What would happen to him?

"That's why I have proposed that the four of us enter into a full alliance," Somalia forced the first sentence out in a single breath, voice uncertain. "Economically and militarily. Djibouti and his government have already agreed, and Eritrea is close. Your new president wanted your take on the matter before he agreed, however. Despite our past, an alliance is the best idea for us."

Merille froze. An alliance… it was tempting, that was for sure. Before the war, the only country in the Horn of Africa that he'd had good relations with was Djibouti, and Merille wasn't even related to the young African. Somalia and Eritrea, for centuries, had been his enemies. Could they really just forget all of that after a war like this one? It seemed almost too good to be true.

"Somalia—"

"Rihana," his sister corrected gently. Merille's heart leapt in surprise. She was letting him use her human name?

"Rihana," he echoed faintly. "You should know that this is a tough call. But I will join you. Like you said, we must rebuild our land and we can't do it alone. Issues like the Ogaden and Somaliland[7] can be addressed later. I can't imagine what our land looks like now, but—"

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and the music from outside became much clearer. Ethiopia turned to see two new figures enter the room. One was a fifteen-year old boy, with curly black hair cut short, the other a woman in her early twenties. The boy's eyes lit up when they fell upon him, and he quickly sprinted over to Merille's side.

"Merille!" He cried, racing over to embrace the much older nation. "You're safe! I was so worried when I had heard that you'd gone after Abyssinia!"

"Don't worry; I'm just fine, Amir," Merille assured him as he hid a wince from his tender ribs. Djibouti[8] was by far the youngest of the nations in the horn of Africa; he'd been born around mid-1800s compared to the Tesfa siblings, which dated back to the 500s B.C. at the earliest.

"You've told him?" Lebina asked her sister. Rihana nodded, and so the youngest of the Tesfa family went on. "We all went through a lot during this war. I believe that this alliance will bring the stability to Africa that we've always lacked."

"Then it's decided," Merille grinned, grabbing Lebina's hand. The two siblings, who had just previously had been locked in what seemed to be an eternal border conflict, now shared a bond that seemed to transcend all of the centuries of competition between them. "We can discuss the specifics when I fully recover."

The tune switched to a strings version of the Ethiopian national anthem. Now Merille had to ask the question that had been tickling the back of his mind since he'd woken up.

"Who in the world is playing that violin?" He asked. Rihana's expression transformed into one of mild annoyance, while Lebina's became slightly amused and Amir's embarrassed.

"It's a _fiddle_!" Came a affronted call from outside, the anthem slowing before picking up again.

"Just America," Amir shrugged with a helpless smile [9]. Merille blinked at him, uncomprehending.

"He's been out there for at least the last hour," Rihana explained. "Don't even ask me how he got the violin—"

"Fiddle!" The voice, which Merille now indeed recognized as America's, cut her off.

"_Violin_ past security, but he's been playing it for just as long."

"Well, 's not _my _fault I need a place to avoid the paparazzi!"

Ethiopia sighed. They were going to have to jump that hurdle now, too, weren't they?

"Well, I can assure you that I haven't been here for half as long." A new person entered the room, who Ethiopia immediately recognized as England. America followed suit, still playing his fiddle. Both were in their military uniforms, contrasting the Africans' civilian outfits.

"We need to discuss some things anyways," America added in, cutting off the anthem in its chorus. He set down the fiddle on the nightstand and began to twirl the bow in his hands. "Mostly to request a report of anything you know about your brother. After you feel well enough to do so, obviously."

The three Africans stiffened. Ethiopia clenched his fists. "Abyssinia is not my brother," he corrected firmly. "He is a monster."

"That isn't our business, I'm afraid," England put in. "We've all heard of your proposed alliance. Congratulations on that, by the way. As it is, we were hoping to use hybrid energy to help your land recover more quickly. But we've been detecting a large amount of it here. I fear that your brother may be the source of or know a lot about its origin."

"You think so?"

"Hybrid energy only started appearing once Abyssinia had come to power. Causation may equal correlation. It's the best lead we have."

"Don't worry," America winked at them as he picked up his fiddle once again. "We'll catch him eventually. It's pretty hard to stay hidden in a world as connected as this one."

Ethiopia couldn't help but envy him. America held an innocence around him that the much more ancient Africans had lost millennia ago. Even as a superpower, he had managed to retain an air of carefreeness about him. How could he pull it off so easily?

England's phone rang, and he checked it.

"It's my Prime Minister," he reported, already heading to the exit. "Sorry. I have to take this."

America nodded, raising the fiddle to his chin. He played a single note, winked at Amir, then, without warning, burst into song:

"_If I had wings like Noah's dove_

_I'd fly the river to the one I love;_

_Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well."_

Merille, feeling pretty awkward just watching this display, sent a look to Amir, mouthing: "What is he doing?" The young African shrugged, looking just as lost as they were, and motioned for them to listen.

"_If I had a woman who was long and tall,_

_Moved her body like a cannon ball -_

_Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well._

"_I remember one evening, it was drizzling rain,_

_And in my heart, I felt an aching pain -_

_Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well."_

Lebina was nodding to herself, a look of slight understanding on her face. Merille sent her a look of confusion, and she infuriatingly only winked at him and bobbed her head to the beat.

"_Muddy river runs muddy and wild,_

_You can't care the bloody for my unborn child -_

_Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well._

"_Just as sure as the birds fly high above,_

_Life ain't worth living without the one you love -_

_Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well[10]."_

America lingered on the last note for a moment, then dropped the fiddle to his side and mock-bowed to them. Pivoting on one foot, he saluted them and ducked out the door without another word.

"You know, I think I'm in the right when I say that America can get a little eccentric at times," Rihana commented, staring at the door as it closed. Merille found himself nodding in agreement as he stood to close the door behind the westerner. "What exactly did he mean to say by that little song?"

"I've never seen him do that before," Amir put in slightly defensively, almost as if he was trying to defend his own reputation. "I didn't even know he could play the violin, and especially not that good."

"You all need to think outside of the box," Lebina declared, sitting on Merille's bed. At her siblings' and friend's confused looks, she elaborated. "Haven't you guys remembered anything from your time as a colony?"

"I try not to," Merille muttered darkly, as Rihana muttered her assent. Amir blushed slightly, fidgeting.

"Papá never let me in on world politics[11]," he confessed. Eritrea sighed.

"Europeans are very passionate artisans," she explained. "Thus when their governments don't want their representatives to say something that they feel they need to tell another country, they tend to use music, poems, or short stories to convey what they're trying to say. I have to admit that I don't know the name of that song, nor what he was trying to get us to understand by it, but it was probably important and something his government doesn't want him flaunting around. But from what I've heard, that style of communication fell out of use around the late 1800s, though I guess I'm not the best person to ask."

Ethiopia nodded to himself, thinking. What exactly was America trying to tell them?

"_Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well."_

What was he trying to tell them, indeed.

* * *

[1]- The siege of Changchun took place in 1948, when several armies of the Chinese Republic were encircled by the Chinese Communist forces. Raqqa is a reference to Chapter 2, and Kaifeng was besieged by the Mongols back in 1127.

[2]- This is referencing the Battle of Baekgang, which took place around 4-5 October 663 A.D. The state of Japan, then Yamato, and their ally, Baekje (one of the three Korean kingdoms currently on the peninsula) suffered a catastrophic defeat against the South Korean kingdom of Silla and the Chinese Tang dynasty. For Baekje, the blow was a knockout that destroyed any chance of the kingdom returning, thus preventing their personification from reviving when China killed him.

[3]- Modern-day names in order are South Korea, North Korea, and Japan.

[4]- Reference to the "Rape of Nanking," an episode of mass murder and mass rape committed by Imperial Japanese troops against the residents of Nanjing, then the capital of China, during the Second Sino-Japanese War in January 1938.

[5]-This is a reference to the original web series. Yessuf belongs to VoidViper.

[6]- In reference to the Italian "colonization" of Ethiopia in 1935-37. The King of Ethiopia pleaded the League of Nations to help them fight off Italy, but they eventually refused to intervene.

[7]- The Ogaden is an Ethiopian territory that is ethnically Somali, and Somaliland is a territory of Somalia's that has been trying to declare independence since 1991. For the sake of simplicity, both are not personified.

[8]- France, Djibouti's colonizer, originally named him Rochet Bonnefoy, but Ethiopia changed it to Amir Miyir when Djibouti became independent. As a result, the Europeans refer to him as Rochet, and the Africans as Amir.

[9]- There is a pretty major American military base in Djibouti, so they've met and are actually pretty good friends.

[10]- "Fare Thee Well" is an American folk song. Of course, America is using this song as a metaphor to try and convey something to the African nations. Y'all just have to figure out what ;-).

[11]- Djibouti was France's colony. I do like to think that they have a close relationship, since France took him in practically the day he was born, thus Djibouti calling him "Papá."


	19. Epilogue

**December 22, 2032**

**London, England**

"America! America, do I have you online?!"

The holographic screen in front of him flickered, and a teenager's face, with amber eyes and wavy black hair, flickered onto the screen. England blinked, then groaned as the teenager scowled.

"Whaddya want, Tory?" Virginia crossed her arms, looking extremely annoyed. England briefly considered just hanging up then and there, but then remembered exactly why he had tried to call her father and discarded the idea.

"Where is America?" He demanded, weaving around two MI6 agents and into a crowded room, full of the top brass of the British government. Ducking past the Minister of Defense, he set down the phone on the table displaying the map so he could take a file from the Prime Minister. He flicked through it, scowling. "We need him online!"

"He's still in Africa, has been for the past three years!" Virginia exclaimed. "Why are you calling his D.C. number?!" However, England only groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"He was _supposed _to get home yesterday, why is he still—" he cut himself off. There wasn't any time for petty arguing, however much he'd like to put the irritating girl in her place. "Whatever. You'll have to do." He turned to one of the MI6 officials in the room. "Where's Eurasia?"

"Connecting now, sir!" The man replied, holding out his own holographic projector. A moment later, Eurasia's form flickered into view.

"Привет, England," he greeted in that faux cheerfulness that made eastern Europe cringe in fear when they heard it. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"I'm sending the live feed to both of you it now," England replied curtly, motioning to another MI6 agent to do as he said. "A rock has been launched out of the Ethiopian area and is currently floating in low orbit over southern Asia and India."

Virginia stiffened, calling out to some passersby that he couldn't see to get the President on the line. Eurasia, on the other hand, merely raised an eyebrow in mild interest.

"Don't shoot it," England quickly announced before the American state did anything rash. "We don't know what will happen when we do."

"Sir!" A messenger burst into the room, frantic. "The object has imploded!"

"What?!" Virginia and England exclaimed in unison, then glared at each other for doing so.

"It seems to be sending out waves of hybrid energy!" The man continued.

"Brace yourselves," England muttered as the room fell silent. "We don't know how this will interfere with the Hybrid Energy we already have harnessed."

Virginia stiffened slightly, but said nothing.

A moment passed. The screen tracking the rock flickered, then came back online as if nothing had happened. England let out a breath of relief.

"The world… has shifted," Eurasia murmured, placing a hand to his chin. "To something we have never seen before."

"New Abyssinia seems to have had a Plan B," England muttered, running a hand tiredly over his face. "Things are going to be changing drastically very fast."

"We'll need to investigate that strange fog over South America," Virginia spoke up.

"I sure Venezuela has already put herself in charge of that," England replied. "She's rapidly approaching first world status. She can handle it; for now, at least."

"This reminds me," Eurasia put in. "Bulgaria, Turkey, and Greece are reporting a strange shadow flitting over the skies of their countries, heading north. Romania's keeping an eye out for it, but he hasn't seen it yet." His expression turned thoughtful. "I wonder what it is?"

"Not to mention that huge cave of minerals India found in Jammu and Kashmir," Virginia put in.

England sighed, feeling every year weighing heavily on his body in that moment.

Things were changing, that was for sure. The Modern Era was at an end.

And he honestly didn't know whether that was a good thing.

* * *

**December 25, 2032**

**Richmond, Virginia**

Alfred opened the door to his home (which was, in reality, a small mansion), making sure it made as little noise as possible as he entered. He let out a breath, putting away his keys as he set down his suitcases.

Home. He was finally home.

Alfred had not set foot in his homeland since his last president had been inaugurated in 2029. Too busy with the war to risk coming back home and desperate to find Manuel, his time with his children had been restricted to video calls and emails. But now he was actually home. He could smell the crisp scent of apple pie in the air that had to be Thomas, and potatoes that had to be Iris and Ryan's dual specialty: funeral potatoes[1].

Oh, he was so glad that he was able to make it for Christmas Day.

"Papa! Estás en casa![2]"

He looked up to the second floor balcony to see Pedro exiting from one of the many bedrooms. The six-year-old let out a squeal as Alfred grinned up at him, rushing down the stairs at such a fast pace that he had to worry if the child would fall down the stairs.

But he couldn't dwell on that for long, for it seemed that his call had awakened the rest of the house. A cry of "Dad!" had him turning just in time to take a Cody to the chest. Alfred laughed, swinging his daughter up in the air. Another pair of bodies barreled into him as his set her down, and Alfred snuck an arm around Felix and Manuel, bringing them into a tight hug. Pedro was downstairs a moment later, and he let go of the three to sweep up the younger territory into his arms.

"Dad! You were supposed to be home three days ago!" Manuel laughed as Alfred did his best to keep them all close, especially the one he'd nearly lost.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Paparazzi caught wind of my departure time. I had to wait _days _before they dispersed enough for me to sneak out."

Cody groaned loudly, always one to let the world know when she was displeased. Pedro giggled.

"And this is why I'm glad I'm an inner state," Ryan put in with a grin, striding over to them. "I don't have it nearly as bad as York or Caitlyn. Hardly anyone cares about little old Utah."

"Thank goodness," Cody sighed as Felix hummed in agreement.

"Let's just say that you don't want to hear the crap Caitlyn's pulled," Virginia put in, just behind her younger brother. She gave her father a quick, tight hug. "She's California for a reason. That's all I'll say about it."

"Where's everyone else?" Alfred asked.

"Out back. Thomas is convinced that he's going to freeze to death but he went and drug the rest of the Deep South with him when the Northeast challenged him to see who could last the longest outside."

"Have you opened presents yet?"

"'Course not," Virginia smiled. "We had to wait for Dad."

"Well, I got a ton of stuff for y'all," Alfred announced with a frustrated grumble. "But it got stuck in security since I bought so much stuff. Honestly, I'm their nation! You'd think that I'd get a free pass for once."

Felix laughed.

"You came," he declared contentedly. "That's enough of a present for me."

"Merry Christmas, then," Alfred smiled genuinely. Screw what was going on in the rest of the world, superpower status and all. He had his kids and that was enough. "No more World Wars does sound like a good present."

Manuel laughed. "I still get to visit the Tesfas, right?"

Alfred hummed. "Uh, _no_. You are _not _allowed to leave my sight, young man."

"_Dad_!"

Alfred laughed again.

Yeah.

The world could go screw itself. He had his kids.

* * *

A/N: I wrote the last half of this chapter on Christmas Day. So a Christmas segment was added to the end of this.

[1]-Thomas is Texas, Iris Idaho, and Ryan Utah in case you needed a reminder. The best restaurant for apple pie (that I found) is in Texas, and funeral potatoes are a signature Idaho/Utah dish that I've tried before (it is _amazing_).

[2]- "Dad! You're home!"

World News (February 18, 3031 to December 31, 2032):

1) 150 thousand Djibouti rebels have retaken their country. They lay waste to a giant lab

2) India runs out of the dangerous mineral and retreats from the front line. Chinese troops take their place

3) Merille Tesfa, AKA Ethiopia, has not been heard of since he took chase after his twin brother Ezana, AKA New Abyssinia. The people of Ethiopia pray for his safe return.

4) Hybrid energy levels on Earth are rising fast.

5) Namibia and Botswana refuse to turn over the Abyssinians inside their country for trial. The United States of America declares war on them.

6) 96 countries have now developed their own strains of hybrid energy. The UK was the first.

7) Scientists are unable to determine the cause of this rise in Hybrid energy

8) It is believed that Hybrid Energy cars will replace all cars in the world

9) Hybrid Energy uses a special type of battery to control its energy flow

10) Hybrid Energy's origin is still unknown

11) Switzerland's chocolate is aiding the children in the wasteland left by the war

12) There has been a large increase of hybrid energy in Jammu and Kashmir. Miners have been trying to dig into it safely

13) Eurasian Union warns Iran about abusing Hybrid Energy

14) There have been reports of large amounts of Hybrid Energy deep within Ethiopia.

15) The media insists that New Abyssinia is behind the creation of Hybrid Energy

16) Ezana Tesfa has been marked as the most wanted man on Earth

17) Egypt reports a strange shadow heading towards Greece, Turkey, and Bulgaria

18) World News is malfunctioning. Systems shutting down. R.I.P. World News.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... that's a wrap! Thank you all for your support. The sequel, The Hybrid Wars, will be out next Sunday, and I expect it to be much longer and more cohesive, now that I actually know what I'm doing.
> 
> What to Expect: Introductions and major Arcs for Australia, New Zealand, Iceland, and South Africa. New alliances and rivalries rising as South America actually does something relevant to world politics ;). And as always, New Abyssinia continues to manipulate things from behind the scenes.
> 
> Hopefully I'll see you all in the next book! Bye-bye!


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